


Cherished as the Stars

by Malind



Series: The Hearts of Kings and Princes [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Coercion, Dubious Consent, Dysfunctional Relationships, Father/Son Incest, Friendship, Jealousy, Longing, Love, M/M, Making Love, Mental Instability, Past Sexual Abuse, Possessive Behavior, Roughness, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-28 01:36:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6309106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malind/pseuds/Malind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After spending decades away from his home, Legolas is unwittingly forced to return and confront the past and present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This starts on T.A. 3017, 1 February, about a year before the 'The Lord of the Rings' main story starts. I've decided to merge the books and the movies. I've taken Aragorn's age from the movie, so he's 27 when he first meets Legolas. The part with Gollum is from the book. And Legolas being with Aragorn at the time, well, blame the movie.
> 
> Disclaimer: The Tolkien characters and universe are owned by Tolkien Enterprises. I make no profit from this fanfiction.

The scent of brimstone, stagnation, and death drenched the whole of the area and burned the elf's nose and eyes, demanding that he cover his face with his sleeve. Long before, however, Legolas had dropped his exhausted arm. The air alone wasn't going to kill him, despite his body's certainty to the contrary. Nonetheless, his body screamed pleas to be anywhere but in the Dead Marshes. Anywhere near Mordor for that matter.

Yes, Aragorn wanted to scout the area. Legolas understood the reasons, had heard the rumors that had brought them there. But, still, did they have to get so unbearably close to lands no one with any sense traveled upon?

And, seriously, didn't humans have any sense of smell?

Legolas growled under his shallow breath as he led his horse along the skirts of the mere beside the brunette man. The terrain was too soft and risky to ride on horseback. Unfortunately, that made the trek indefinitely longer, well, besides the fact that Aragorn insisted on inspecting every speck of ground they came across.

With a mind of its own, the prince's mouth opened again to protest, but he quickly closed it. He'd tried before, on several occasions.

The ranger could be insufferably stubborn. Those few hours were a perfect example. Legolas had known that stubbornness had taken hold, even without speaking up, from decades of knowing a man people called Strider. And at the moment, Legolas wanted to call him all kinds of fool.

A half an hour later, relenting his control for some piece of sanity, the elf mumbled, "Be at ease, my friend, before the air burns my face off. No one would be foolish enough to come through the marsh."

Aragorn turned his head to grin at his companion, probably picking up all too well on the double meaning. "All the more reason to look."

"Or to not look..."

The man's grin deepened, his eyes shining his amusement at the elf's near-tortured senses. Then the tracker's gaze dropped back to the ground, attempting to pick up any trace of prior movement through the forsaken land. The elf, on the other hand, didn't want to look to the ground, knowing what he'd see: the abandoned fallen of a war long past. He just plain hated this place.

A few minutes later, the man's steps slowed.

Slowing down in sync, brows furrowing, himself dreading the prospect of having to go further into the marshes to investigate, Legolas asked, "What do you see?"

The human tilted his head, frowning. "These tracks... They look human-ish, but no person would come through this area without boots, unless by force. But this person was alone. The feet - Wide, long, smaller toes. A hobbit perhaps?" He crouched down, his hand gliding a bit over the muck. "But there are handprints as well, as if it crawled with hands and feet. And with ease and swiftness." Aragorn met his eyes. "These are fresh, made within the last hours." He looked to the skirts of the marsh, pointing in the direction the tracks led. "Do you see anything?"

Legolas broke his gaze away and looked, his light blue eyes narrowed to scan the darkening distance. Far away, thankfully, regretfully, he did see something, slight movement in an otherwise still land, well, except for the constant flocking of hungry bugs. But this was no bug. He nodded. "In the distance, yes. Let us leave the horses to quiet our approach."

Both of them let go of their reigns and stalked as lowly and silently as they could on muck that wanted to suck them in. It was difficult to hide though, considering the land was next to barren, outside of thorny bushes and the occasional rock or boulder.

The closer they came, the easier the elf could pick out distinct voices almost singing a duet of seeming nonsense, one voice angry and vengeful, the other trying to calm while slinking away. But both voices were coming from the same creature, no matter how the elf wished it otherwise. He'd heard of such a condition, but never before had the displeasure of witnessing it. It chilled him, his stomach turning.

Then, the creature distinctly gagged out, "Gollum, gollum."

The prince stopped, looking to Aragorn, and whispered, barely a breath, "Gollum?"

The tracker looked back. "Gollum... I know that name. From Gandalf and various rumors."

"As do I. I also heard it many years ago in my father's kingdom."

"Many years?" Aragorn shook his head with a light huff. "Try decades."

Legolas pressed his lips together. His separation from home wasn't something he talked about freely, even with his friend. Even if, on occasion, with obvious weighted curiosity, the tracker worked to glean information from him.

In the end, even if Aragorn had managed piece together some of Legolas' reasons for leaving his home, including the initial shared one of Thranduil urging his son to seek the ranger out, there was no way Aragorn could have guessed at all of it, unless he was a mind reader. But surely, if he had been, he wouldn't have bothered with so many carefully poised questions, as well as statements designed to get the elf to react.

The human often seemed to forget the elf had been around the block for thousands of years, had been hiding the main reason of his desertion from everyone for nearly the same number. If he hadn't talked about it by that point, minus the conversations with his father that had put yet more painful distance between them, he wasn't going to that day or the next.

His human friend had never liked the fact that Legolas refused to contact his kindred, let alone never going home to them. Aragorn knew the durable bonds of elves, having been raised by them from an early age. Strider had no family, no human family anyway, and could never understand Legolas' continuous refusal to at least acknowledge the one elf who was his family. But Legolas couldn't explain it without revealing things that shouldn't have been an issue to begin with, that he'd tried so hard over the years to grow past or, in the very least, bury deep inside of himself.

Aragorn had once told him that, one day, he'd pry out every bit of information he sought. That had been decades before. And Aragorn still pried with a stubbornness that surpassed any other living creature.

Pulling the elf out of his thoughts, the ranger continued his whisper with, "This creature is an interest of Gandalf's. We should capture it for him."

The elf nodded. "My kin may have an interest as well. We can take it to Mirkwood and keep it there until Gandalf can be found."

Aragorn raised a brow at him. "You would go home for this?"

Realizing what he'd said without thinking, the prince opened his mouth but closed it immediately after. Had he truly just talked about going back home? His heart hammered much to his dismay. Could he go back? Could he ever even tame his treacherous heart to the point that just thinking about home didn't tie his insides into knots?

Had there ever been any hope to be the son Thranduil desired?

Light blue eyes closed and he breathed in a breath he wished he didn't need with the accompanying burning in his lungs. A hand gripped his shoulder, flashing his eyes back open. The concern in the human's eyes did nothing to still him. To get past the moment since bringing Gollum to his home was the best option, he blurted in a whisper, "We will not stay long."

Aragon stared for a moment, but then nodded with a small smile. "Very well." Then he crouched completely, drawing close to his companion, digging a twist of rope out of his coat, looping it. Legolas crouched down as well. "Stay here." Legolas nodded, smelling the smoked leaf on the human's breath as Aragorn continued with, "I'll come up on it from the other side. Hopefully it'll steer this way, if I fail to capture it. Grab it, if I do." He started moving forward, but then stopped and glanced at the elf pointedly, "And try not to shoot it. I'd rather not drag it to your father's doorstep."

The elf smirked slightly, despite himself, before the ranger made a large circle around to the other side of the creature in the near blackness of the night.

With a well-practiced stealth, Aragorn came up on the softly jabbering creature that seemed transfixed with its own expression in the water. Then the human was on it, slamming it to the ground. Gollum let out a horrid cry and then Aragon did as well as the creature's mouth clamped onto his shoulder through layers of cloth. At the first cry, Legolas was up and sprinting to them, practically flying over the mushy ground and thorny bushes.

By the time he was at their side, the ranger had it down on the ground, its arms behind its back. It fought and spit out curses with every breath, clearly enraged, but lined in it was what appeared to be, well, terror. The secondary emotion took the elf back.

"Whats do they do to us?" Gollum wailed, "We cants let its takes us! We must find the precious!"

"Legolas! Help me! This thing fights like an orc and squirms like a greased pig."

Broke out of his near-trance, the elf dropped to his knees and grabbed the rope that had been strung over the creature's neck. He grabbed its wrist and realized what Aragorn was talking about. The thing's limbs were covered in a greenish slime. The stink from it as it hissed and wiggled under the heavy weight of the human's body compared to that of the marsh. He couldn't pick a clear winner. When was the last time Gollum had had a bath? If he'd had to guess, never.

Tying its wrists as quickly as he could, he barely noticed as Aragon grabbed another line of rope from another pocket and looped that one around the creature's neck  as well, drawing the knot taunt.

Gollum sputtered and cried. "It chokes us! Vicious, nasty mens and elfses means to kill us, precious!"

Legolas backed away, and then Aragorn did as well while holding onto the makeshift leash. They watched Gollum riot on the ground as if he was still being held. The elf found himself blocking it out. The spectacle was not only painful to listen to. It ground on his heart to watch. "It will wake the dead, carrying on like that."

"We have no choice."

The longer it rolled on the ground, the more Legolas realized the obvious. "It cannot walk with its hands tied."

It took a few more moments for the ranger to be convinced of that fact. Then, the man strode forward and cut the ropes binding its wrists behind its back. Immediately Gollum tried to dash off on all fours into the mere, but flipped onto the ground when the rope around its neck reached the end of the slack. Not even trying to remove the rope, it instead clawed at it, screaming its terror.

And Legolas had thought Gollum's double talk had been horrifying. "Its mind is completely gone."

"Perhaps, but it talked to itself just a minute before. It can think. Do not be fooled." The rope was shoved into Legolas' hand. "Hold onto it tight. You saw its fight." Then the ranger strode the few feet, cutting a strip from his shirt with a dagger, and gagged the snapping mouth. The gag silenced it only by a little, but at least the creature's vicious, fearful words could no longer be understood.

"It will take nearly three weeks to reach my father's kingdom on foot. I doubt we could ride with it without knocking it out or tying it up." Besides the fact that he didn't want to be the one to have to ride with it.

"We can walk the distance," Aragon growled, his face cringing in the darkness.

The night and then days that follow had never before felt so long. Even though they tried to feed the creature, Gollum refused to eat anything they prepared, shrinking back and hissing through the gag. Neither of them wanted to strong-arm the creature into it. By the end of the almost four weeks, it only moaned and wobbled about on its legs and arms, so out of it that Legolas found himself admiring its commitment to not being any kind of companion to them. The feeling was generally mutual, but he would have preferred to see it fed at least.

When they arrived at his father's doorstep, it seemed like no time had passed, not merely the last few weeks, but the decades as well. Nothing had changed. Seemingly not even a leaf. Just walking up to the doorway... He couldn't believe the absolute fear coursing through him.

Upon their approach, an elven guard opened the door. Legolas recognized him and opened his mouth to greet him, but the guard beat him to it with, "My Lord, your return... is most welcome."

Legolas tilted his head at the hesitancy. "What is it?"

The guard pressed his lips together before he stated, "Your father, he has closed the gates to all. No visitors are allowed inside, not even to trade."

"How long has it been this way?"

"Barely a year past your departure, my Lord." The guard took in all of them, then rested his eyes back on his prince. "I-I cannot allow you to enter. Your father has forbid it."

Legolas couldn't stop his shock scrunching his brows inwards. "Forbidden me?"

"Yes, my Lord. Forgive me."

If the guard said this to his face then the prince had no reason to doubt its truthfulness, but that didn't stop his weakened breaths. His father refused to see him? Refused to even allow him into his own home for a few minutes, let alone a few days or longer?

"Why?" Legolas asked, his voice trembling.  He asked, even though he knew this elf most likely didn't know the full reason.

The elf licked his lips, looking behind him before looking back. "He... He is not the same since you left. His anger, nothing settles it. It..."

Legolas couldn't be surprised in the least. His father had always had a temper.  But he also had reason.  The idea that his father was taking out his rage on his whole kingdom and for decades...

Was it because of him, his son? Because he left? Or was there another reason?

"Tell him I am here. That I wish to speak with him."

The guard pressed his lips together again, but then nodded and withdrew, closing the door, leaving Legolas wondering why he'd requested the audience at all.

"Are you all right, Legolas?"

The prince blinked at the ranger behind him, having forgotten he was there. A hand touched him and he couldn't help the jerking of his body. The hand dropped. He noticed then his panicked breaths, the dampness of his skin.

"Legolas... Tell me what is wrong."

How could he even begin to tell this man, his friend, what was wrong? The words wouldn't come to his mind, let alone his lips.  He looked down at Gollum who looked up at him with his huge, curious eyes, displaying the gentler of his two forms that Legolas had unraveled over the weeks.

His mouth opened and then he huffed and looked to Aragorn.  "If I should die this morning, know that you were a true friend to me these past years."

Aragorn huffed as well.  "Your father cannot be that harsh."  Legolas looked away, probably paler than he'd been minutes before.  "Can he?"

"When my father is done with something..." Blue eyes met brown. "That is the end."

"But he cannot be done with his own son.  No man is that cruel, unless he was cruel to start."

"My father is not cruel, although he can be."  The elf smiled.  "And my father is not a man."

His father was an elf.  A king for longer than Legolas' nearly 3000 years alive.  A biased, decisive, possessive, protective one at that.  If Thranduil had set his mind on keeping his son out, there wasn't a thing he could do about it.

The blonde elf believed that until the guard came back nearly fifteen minutes later, cleared his throat, and said, "Your father will not see you."

"He will not see me?" 

The guard swallowed and nodded, clearly liking it as little as the prince did, but it was not his place to disagree.  To get even this much emotion out of a Mirkwood elf guard was phenomenal.

And why did Legolas suddenly want to see his father so badly?  After dreading it for weeks, years?  Why did he suddenly want to charge into what used to be his home and demand an audience whether his father wanted it or not?  The absurdity of it was not lost on him, but that didn't still his desire to do just that.

"Step out of my way."

Dread overtook the guard's face.  "My Lord, you know I cannot."

"My father can do nothing to you for stepping aside.  He would not dare."

"He is not the same as you remember."

Legolas sneered, unable to help it.  "Are you afraid of him?  You are never to be afraid of your king.  Your king fears you."  And he was one to talk.

The guard looked away, unable to hold the gaze.  There was fear there and it was genuine.  What had happened to his proud kingdom in the last almost sixty years?  That a guard would tremble instead of holding himself as tall as their lineage and strength demanded...

"Get out of my way, or I will show you true fear."

The guard met his eyes again, the timorous thoughts clear on his face.  After a few moments, he inclined his head.  "Yes, my Lord, but only you.  Your companion must wait outside."

Legolas looked to the future king of men, if fate had any sense, and nodded to him.  "I will be back."

Aragorn nodded in return.  Legolas' gaze trailed over his face, a man who had been his anchor for so long, and, in it, found his strength to face someone stronger willed than the prince himself.  And then the only thing left was to walk inside the door.  And he did.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, translations are at the end.
> 
> If you didn't read the first part of this series, this is probably going to leave you with a lot of 'wtf is she talking about's'. If that's the case, I would go back and read at least the last chapter of 'Beautiful as the Stars', mostly the part in the tent.

The guard closed the door which sealed on its own with the magic protecting the living rock and its inhabitants.  He quickly met his prince's strides into dim carved stone halls and along treacherously-high, open bridges and staircases.  "Allow me to take you to him."

Legolas nodded and then walked beside the heavily armored elf. 

Surely everyone residing in the halls knew of the prince's banishment.  Perhaps with the guard at his side, any resistance he might have otherwise encountered could be avoided.  He had no desire to fight his kin.  The few people they encountered did stare, but none stopped them.  A few even nodded or bowed, and quietly said their welcomes, probably assuming, if Legolas was in their midst, there was a proper reason for it.

With the direction they headed though, the elf prince found his steps beginning to falter.  They weren't heading to the throne or the great ceremonial halls, nor the lower caves of the king's stores and the prisoners' cells.

They were headed to the royal family's chambers.  This, he hadn't expected, but it made sense.  It was still early in the morning and, if Thranduil wasn't allowing visitors, his duties were minimal outside of management of the fortress and surrounding areas and the inner squabbles between elves. 

But Legolas hadn't mentally prepared himself for walking into rooms that held so many joyful and wretched memories from his youth and beyond.  These rooms were where his father had sung to him, taught him, held him, played with him.  These were the rooms he'd learned of his mother death, a loss that had wrecked both of their souls, as well as others. 

Yes, for the centuries after, he'd lived in these halls, but he couldn't have left before, not when he couldn’t imagine life without his father as well, no matter how cold and distant the elder elf had become.  To lose both parents at the same time would have killed him, although the years that followed had been nearly exactly that.  But over time, the centuries had deadened the losses, making them somewhat endurable. 

But now, after 59 years of self-inflicted exile, as an unwelcome guest, to walk back into rooms he knew all too well...

Every step he took made him want to turn around and scramble out in a panic from the stone walls that became more suffocating by the moment, despite him being far from able to reach out and touch one from the walkway.

When they ascended the last staircase, arriving at the main entrance for the royal chambers, his heart hammering, his skin damp with sweat, the two elves finally met resistance.  Four armed guards came to attention at their approach and blocked the walkway to the hallway.

"Stand down.  The prince wishes to speak with our king," the elf at his side said boldly.

"The king refused him entrance into the halls just minutes ago, never mind these last years," a female guard said just as boldly.  "Yet you allowed him in?"

"Yes, he is my prince, and I obey him."

"And I obey the king."  Her eyes turned to Legolas.  "My Lord, if you wish to have an audience with the king, you must gain his approval.  I will ask him again, if you wish me to, but you must leave these halls until he agrees."

And it would have been so simple to just walk away.  Legolas had been walking away for decades, no matter his justifications for what he'd done.  He could do it again and just be done with all of this... torment, at least physically.  A large part of him wanted to.

But what about everyone else?  If he left, he'd only be giving his father free reign to do as he pleased.  And from the sound of it, nothing pleased him.  So, his people would continue to suffer with no hope for appeasement.  He couldn't allow that.  Not when there was a good chance that this was all his fault.

"I will leave after he sees me."

The female elf stiffened at the words.  She clearly didn't want to disobey either her prince or her king, but surely the king had her favor since Thranduil was the one who lived in these halls, not his banished son.  After a few moments, she cleared her throat and said, "Very well, I will ask again, but remain here."

Marching away from the others, it verged on a minute before the echoing clank of her armor could no longer be heard.  It took everything in the prince to not fidget while the five of them waited.

If he left now, unless his father had an unlikely sudden change of heart like the one he'd had for Tauriel fifty-nine years before, he knew he'd never get back inside the doors of the kingdom.  This was his only chance to do something, if he was going to do it.

Then again, if Tauriel had come back home, there'd still be hope to gain entrance, however slim. 

Legolas turned to look at the guard at his side.  "Is Tauriel still a captain of the Guard?"

The elf met his gaze.  He paused for a moment before he offered, "Yes, my Lord.  She remains in charge of keeping the outskirts of our kingdom safe.  However, despite your friendship with her, I would not involve her in this.  She is...  not our king's favorite."

And that was most likely indirectly Legolas' fault.  But at least she hadn't been outright banished again after he'd left.  There was still hope, but he'd have to tread lightly if he used her assistance.  And he'd obviously have to take the servants pathways if he had any hope of gaining entrance to the king's chambers.  That in itself was a problem as more people used the servant pathways, but the guards there were minimal.

The prince couldn't help the slight shake of his head.  All of this planning and underhandedness, just to see his own father?  Suddenly his heart ached over it.

How could his father, the elf who'd raised him, who'd loved him unconditionally at least for a time, want nothing to do with him?  How could Thranduil bear the loss when Legolas stood right here for the taking?  How had Legolas himself done it over the years?  Suddenly he wasn't sure how.  Denial?  Fear?  Pain?

Ah, yes, the agonizing pain his father bestowed was an excellent motivator.

But now, surely, considering what Thranduil was doing to the people around him, his father was in pain as well.  And Legolas, having had the utmost devotion until he'd ruined so much by burning with debauchery, had caused that pain.  He was sure of it. 

And it didn't matter that his father might burn the same, because Thraduil had never acted on those impulses, had tried to keep distance, unlike his son.

Then again, his father _had_ kissed him when Legolas basically pushed him into it.

His breaths thickened as his body flamed up at the memory of soft lips against his own. How could there ever be any hope to forget that? 

Surely he'd been completely ruined that night in the tent.  His needy father had held him against him and kissed his lips and shoulder, had whispered words of love.  The younger elf had wanted so much more, even when the touches had ended.

Yes, he decided, he'd been ruined that night, his heart torn apart without any hope for repair despite his own best intentions with leaving.  He should have just left the encampment when he'd had the chance, never entering his father's tent.  It'd been an absolute mistake.  And now, nothing could take it back.

Looking to the hallway, his cracking voice whispered to the guard next to him, "If he will not see me..."  He couldn't bring the words of love and regret to his lips, although that was the closest he'd ever come with someone besides his father.

"My Lord..."

That would have been the moment to tell the prince to not give up hope, to keep up the good fight, that everything was going to be all right in the end.  However, those words were something no one but his father could say with any truthfulness since Thranduil was the one with all of the control at the moment.

The clanking of armor distracted all of them.  Soon, the female guard exited the main hallway and met him again at the top of the stairs.  When he saw the look on her face, he already knew the answer.

"My Lord, he will not see you."  The pleading in her eyes deadened his heart.  "Please...  My prince, you must leave."

Everything in him told him to not take a single step away, to not lose this chance. 

No wonder he'd left that night.  If he'd stayed... There wouldn't have been any hope for him.  Just as there wasn't any now.

He never should have come here.  Ever.

But now that he was here, he couldn't leave without a fight.

The clunking of armor sounded, battle stances being taken, when Legolas stiffened the whole of his body.  Everyone in his kingdom knew of his combat capabilities, or at least heard of them.  He'd had the honor of dueling these elves and fighting alongside them for centuries.  But the last thing he wanted was to fight against them.

If they'd just step aside...

A begging, the female again said, "Please."

Ignoring her, "ADAR!" roared out from his lungs, echoing through the whole of the open hall and surely into the hallways leading to Thranduil's hiding place.  And he was hiding.  So unkinglike.

He wasn't surprised in the least when there was no reply, nor footsteps.  He looked back to the female guard, practically shaking her with his glare.  "Go back there and tell him that I love him!  That I beg for his forgiveness!"  When she hesitated, he added, "Do it now, or I _will_ be the one to do it!"

At continued her hesitance, seconds later, he sensed more than he heard booted footstep walking from the inner halls.  He straightened, trying to look past the guards.  And there his father was, as expansive, cold, and determined as he'd ever been. 

But the king had stepped outside.

His father stared at him.  The female guard turned her head, and Thranduil gave a small flick of his hand.  She moved, and then the rest of them moved back to the sides, two on each. 

Then the older elf smiled, but it was a cold one, despite the softness of his face. "Will you ever listen to me, Legolas?"

The prince shook his head, drawn right back to that night in the tent when his father had said similar words when Legolas couldn't sleep.  "I _do_ listen to you, adar.  I take every single word that comes from your lips to heart.  But I cannot always do what you command, not when my heart tells me something different."

Thranduil gestured to his guards.  "And these guards you would fight through to get to me, if they were to listen to their 'hearts' and not their king, what would happen to them if they failed my command?"

The threat was clear in the words, for all of them, the guards stiffening even further, barely breathing. 

"Adar..."  Legolas took a step forward, but stopped, not daring to take another like he'd done so many times before.  "You are no god.  You are merely a king.  A post given to you so that you may protect the sovereignty of this land and its people.  You cannot control their hearts any more than you can control mine."

But the final words were a lie.  And if Thranduil remembered what Legolas had spoken in the tent, he'd know the lie for what it was.  Then again, his father might not even have been awake to hear those defenseless words.

Thranduil tilted his head slightly.  "No. I cannot control hearts."  The elf studied his son for a moment longer, and then said to his guard, "Remove that guard from his duties and my home.  He is incapable of following simple orders.  And escort Legolas back outside."  He twirled around, his long formal coat following the motion, and walked back down the hallway, a dismissal.

Tears came to the prince's eyes over the things he couldn’t say to his father and the wrong things he'd just said.  Yet again.  If only he had the strength to tell this elf everything.  The strength to follow through.

_You do control my heart, even if it'd be a blessing if it were otherwise.  It was never my heart telling me to disobey.  But rather my mind._

 If only he could be the son his father deserved instead of a willful, disobedient, love-starved child in an adult's body. And what was sad was that he wasn't unloved.  He had the love of many, many elves and even a human waiting outside for him.  But the one person who he wanted endless love from barely even acknowledged him. 

That lack of acknowledgement was partially his fault, but it was also Thranduil's as the elder elf walked away from him, just as Legolas had done so many years before.  It was a sad moment to regret walking away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things will get better between them, I swear it! DX
> 
> Adar - father


	3. Chapter 3

At the king's command, the female guard shifted forward again, blocking the way and Legolas' view. The adjacent guard moved in sync. "Allow me to escort you outside, my Lord." She turned her head slightly to the elf next to her. "Eryn, escort Ninael."

His teeth gritted to bite back the tears that threatened, the prince stood his ground for only a second longer before he offered an apologetic nod and slight smile to the guard at his side, receiving a nod in return, and then turned around and stalked back down the stairs and walkways. Hurried clunks of metal did their best to match his uninhibited pace, the female being just a touch shorter.

The further away from his father he got, the more resentment replaced his sorrow. Resentment both at himself and his father.

No one could doubt the younger elf's ineffectiveness against his father's will. The only times he'd managed to even slightly impose himself on Thranduil was when Legolas threatened abandonment or his own death by getting in Thranduil's way.

But that hadn't always been true. As a child, a spoiled, happy one at that, he'd often gotten his way with his doting parents. But at the time, the encompassment of his childish desires had been slim.

Now, well, were his current desires really so different than his younger ones? No, they really weren't, not the base of them, at least, but millenniums of life had apparently put too much between himself and his own father.

The question then became: How could he remove such barriers?

Well, it was impossible to even start if his father refused to be in his presence, had outright banished Legolas while squirreling himself away in his magical halls. With that in mind, the idea sneaking his way back inside didn't seem remotely productive anymore, perhaps even detrimental to his health with its good chance of backfiring. Although he couldn’t imagine his father ever drawing a sword to him, there were other ways to cause suffering that could destroy his son just as well. Being locked away and forgotten by Thranduil in the dank cells of the halls' prison was one of them.

Trying to push the thoughts away when he exited the door, it took everything in him to not charge right past Aragorn and lose himself in the wilderness. The human had dutifully waited for him, although he'd taken to leaning his back against a nearby tree, the leash around Gollum's neck tied to a low branch. Their horses grazed nearby.

When Aragorn saw his face, he pushed away from the tree, instant concern overlaid his now frowning features. "What is it, Legolas? What happened?"

Legolas stopped a short way from the man, a false smile on his face. "Well, I live. A good thing, I suppose."

It took everything in him to stand still, especially when he heard the door close behind him. He wanted to run. To draw his bow or daggers and attack something. To simply yell until his throat burned. Anything besides standing there and taking all of this in stride.

"Legolas..." The man stepped forward but the elf stopped him with his hard stare. "If you simply talked about it..."

A truer smile formed at Aragorn's true concern. "Nothing can make this better, my friend."

There were a few moments of mutual staring before Aragorn finally nodded. "Then what are we going to do?"

The elf let his gaze rest on the creature that muttered behind the gag to itself while shifting nervous and angry glances his way. "We can take Gollum to the Silvan elves living in the forest near the river and see if they will care for it until Gandalf can be found. Perhaps it is better that way. I doubt being locked in the halls with my father would be even remotely good for its mind." When Aragorn said nothing to the contrary, Legolas added, "Leave the horses. They have no place in this forest."

The ranger walked to his, petting it, whispering softly, reassuringly, and removed his bags, shouldering them. Legolas did the same and then untied Gollum's leash. The three of them crossed the river over the guard post, the elven guards greeting them and letting them by freely.

It took careful trekking until almost noon before they came near a settlement. In one moment to the next, high in the trees, a group of arrows pointed at them before one of them pulled back. A female voice ordered the others away. It was a voice Legolas recognized all too well. He beamed at the elf then who jumped down and hastened forward to him. A wide smile on her face, Tauriel suddenly embraced him, and, while surprised at first, he hugged her back.

Tauriel pulled away, holding him at arm's length. "Legolas, you were gone far too long. I missed you deeply." Her smile got lost as a slight frown overtook her. "Your father, has he seen you yet?"

After a humorless huff, he admitted, "After forcing my way in, yes, for about sixty seconds before he had me escorted back out."

At the words, all of her happiness drained. She embraced him again, before she grabbed his hand. In common tongue, Westron, she said, "Come, you and your friends are most welcome." Pausing, her head tilted to the side when she finally took a close look at Gollum, her eyes previously having been for the prince alone.

Legolas looked down at the raggedly breathing creature. In Sindarin, he said, "We captured it in the Dead Marshes for Gandalf and brought it here for safekeeping."

"Is it ill?"

"It has eaten nothing but sips of water since we captured it. I cannot tell if it dislikes what we serve or if it simply refuses to eat."

"Well, with a gag, it can hardly tell you."

Legolas frowned at his friend but then realized she was probably right. Then again, she couldn't yet realize the creature's state of mind.

Not asking for permission, Tauriel knelt down in front of it. Wide-eyed, Gollum watched her wearily. She smiled, whispering softly, and soon managed to get a dagger behind its head without resistance, cutting the fabric away. In Westron, she said, "There. Now what would you like to eat?"

It nervously looked between them, then said to her with a few nods, "Meates raw and juicy."

Legolas couldn't help cringing his revulsion. "Raw?"

"Well, easy enough," Tauriel said with a smile and stood back up. Her smile turned to Aragorn. "And you?"

Aragorn smiled back and said in Sindarin, "Cooked, thank you."

The long-haired brunette grinned. "We can manage that. And your name, sir, so that I may introduce you around?"

"Strider. And our friend is Gollum."

"My name is Tauriel." She smiled at all of them. In Westron, she said, "Come, there is enough time in the day to prepare a feast for your return."

The group of them walked deeper into the forest, although most of her accompanying elves went back to their patrols. Soon, they came up on a small village of less than two-hundred elves. Their homes were built at various levels in the trees with bridges connecting them, keeping them safe and hidden from harm below.

Tauriel turned her head to them and spoke in Sindarin, "Does Gandalf know you search for him?"

"No, we have not seen him for many months," Aragorn said, looking up at the concealed homes. An untrained eye could have easily missed them.

"I will have word sent out that you arrived here and are looking for him. Someone is bound to come across him eventually, if the wizard is not already on his way."

Hours later, a large group of elves, a human, and a creature all sat on the ground. Most savored wild boar, seasoned vegetables, cakes, and wine. Gollum, however, munched happily on whole uncooked fish, guts and all. Trying to keep his mind away from it, even when the happy gurgles and hums kept grabbing his attention, the prince wished he had an appetite for the foods in front of him after so many years away from home. But he could barely stomach any of it. It wasn't just Gollum. It was also the disturbing thoughts of that morning eroding any happiness to be had.

Tauriel touched his arm, drawing his gaze. "You never said goodbye all those years ago," she said quietly, smiling softly, sadness in her eyes.

He laid his hand over her slim one. "You... You seemed to have enough burden on your heart."

With a nod, looking to her lap, she said, "We all did. So many lost, people we loved, and... And your father... The next day, he..."

Legolas' body grew tense with her searching for the proper words. "He what?"

"You left without a word to anyone." She met his eyes. "I think you broke his heart. You know the debt I owe you for everything you did for me, helping me when no one else would. You were a true friend to me. But... He is your father. I know what it is like to lose parents. But for a father to lose his only child..."

Shaking his head, he murmured, "I would never take back what I did, my friend."

"And I can never repay you for your sacrifice. But... Why did you leave that morning?"

Realizing the depth of this conversation, Legolas turned his head to the other person beside him, just in time to see Aragorn looking away, the eavesdropper. The elf couldn't help his huff, a bit of humor staining it. The tracker had been waiting for this conversation for decades.

"I left because..." He closed his eyes, his body involuntarily tensing. "Because I was not the son my father deserved."

Tauriel shook her head, motions he could feel in slight the movement of her torso, the brushing of her thick hair against his shoulder. "You know that could not be true." When he opened his eyes to denounce the words, her dark eyes were imploring. "Thranduil loves you above all else in this world. He would see you at his side no matter what. Anyone with a heart can see that."

Legolas smiled at her. "You seem to forget my banishment."

The younger elf pressed her lips together and looked to her lap again. "Your banishment came much later... Like I said... I think you broke his heart."

Swallowing at the threatening nausea, he stood, pulling out of the sudden grip of her hand, and walked away from the group. Away from the small fires littering the landscape, keeping them warm against the chilly night as they ate. He kept walking until he could no longer hear the sounds of their merriment. And then he walked some more until a sob racked his body, bringing him to the ground in a heap. His body heaved like it hadn't done since he learned of his mother's death. He couldn't stop it or the begging in his mind to have things be different.

If only his mother hadn't died... If he could have changed one thing in his life, that would have been it. Her death had destroyed so much more than merely herself. It had destroyed both his and Thranduil's hope for happiness. And maybe, if she hadn't died, he wouldn't have felt this way for his father, this burning desire to have Thranduil's love, for his father to be his and his alone and... not hers.

She was dead. She didn't need him anymore. But he did, so badly it felt like constant slow death that never gave release, only grew in pain until he was sure that one day he'd lose his mind. Perhaps he already had, but just hadn't admitted it to himself yet.

And the idea he'd broke Thranduil's heart... Could there be a crueler joke? No, it wasn't possible... His father... His father...

The memories of those moments when Thranduil had kissed him, told him he loved him, all those years ago, they stilled him somewhat. So wrapped up in his own misery over the years, he'd spent so much time trying to forget those moments.

But if he was honest, his father, his king had given himself to his son in those moments. Had offered his love. No, not to the extreme of a lover, but it had been so close that it might as well have been.

That night on the balcony... The elder elf had whispered endearments a lover would say: Meleth e-gûr nîn and meleth nîn. Love of my heart and my love. At the time, he'd taken the words in stride. But he forced himself to admit now that his father had meant every one of them. He'd meant every kiss. And Legolas had...

And, after everything, in his impatience, he'd simply walked away that morning after the battle. He'd just left when his father needed him. When he, his son, had needed his father. He'd left with the best intentions, but...

He'd been so wrong.

Until that moment, he hadn't realized the depths his abandonment, never saying goodbye, never sending word, never coming home until it was convenient for him.

Breaking Thranduil's heart, could he have possibly gone about it in a crueler way? The only way he could have truly made it worse would have been to denounce his father's love and his own to Thranduil's face. But those were lies he couldn't have told.

And after all of that, he'd expected his father to just open himself up again, all the while Legolas knew full well he intended to walk away again.

He'd asked that guard to tell Thranduil that he had his son's love, that Legolas wanted forgiveness, but, at the time, he hadn't grasped exactly why he should have been saying it. They'd been impulsive words. Ones merely to get his father to see him.

Now he would have meant them. And he wasn't going to be given the chance to say them again.

Eventually, when his tears dried up, he made his way back to the feast cooked under his name. He eventually smiled and laughed and sang with them. Later, with Gollum now in the care of the Silvan elves, his belly full of wine, Legolas was led to a spare room with a couple of thin mattresses on the floor. He did his best to not trip over Aragorn who was already asleep on the first mattress, probably as drunk as he was, despite the human drinking much less. Eventually sleep overtook him and brought dreams of his father.

In them, his father whispered words of love, kissed him, caressed his body, cried, and grew so angry that Legolas truly feared him for the first time in his life. He awoke in a sweat and with a hardness at his groin. And for so many reasons, he never wanted to go to sleep again. When he turned his head, Aragorn was watching him.

Barely above a whisper, Legolas asked, "You cannot sleep?"

"Not with you tossing and moaning like that. I could not tell if you were having nightmares or something far more pleasant. Perhaps a bit of both? Although, with the number of times you said, 'adar' and 'ada'..."

Eyes wide, Legolas felt his mouth open, but he couldn't say a word. He thanked everything in existence that it was dark still or the human would have seen the redness that ravaged his face. He turned his head away, looking to the ceiling. He swallowed at the lump in his throat and mumbled, "Sorry for keeping you awake."

"You know... You lived with your father for nearly 3000 years, never marrying. You never even spoke of a lover, someone you love, even when I mentioned Arwen. And in all of these years, you've spoken of your father probably a handful of times. I could never figure it out. Why...? Why would you just up and leave and never look back when this was your life for so long? Especially when you so clearly loved your father when you did speak of him."

Aragorn paused, letting the words drift over them both. Then he added:

"You told Tauriel that you weren't the son your father deserved. And I believe her, that those words cannot be true, at least in the way she was thinking... But what Tauriel said tonight, that you broke his heart... Did you break his heart?"

Legolas swallowed again, tears spilling from his eyes as his face crinkled. "I-I think I did."

There was only a moment's pause before the ranger murmured, "Then you should probably fix it."

That finally pulled a sob out of him. "I want to, but how can I now? He will not even see me."

Aragorn huffed. "A problem, huh? But one that can be worked on. Tomorrow. This day has been far too long. Go back to sleep, Legolas."

The words, so close to the ones Thranduil had spoken to him, well, it took him a long time to banish that night in the tent once again from his head. It was almost morning when his eyes finally stayed closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meleth e-gûr nîn - love of my heart  
> Meleth nîn - my love  
> Adar - father  
> Ada - dad/daddy


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentions of past sexual abuse (not graphic in any way, but it's triggery so...)

An arm crossed over his torso, the other holding an elongated goblet of wine, his stomach otherwise empty from a lack of appetite, Thranduil barely heard the head scout ramble almost nervously on and on and on about the state of the kingdom beyond the walls. Instead, a certain blonde-haired youth wouldn't get out of his head.

It wasn't that he hadn't thought about Legolas over the years.  To the contrary, his son's face was what he saw when he awoke in the morning, what he saw before sleep claimed him.  Even his dreams held him. 

But in the last couple of decades, the elf king had been able to breathe again after so many years of nearly forgetting how to do such a basic function.  The banishment had helped with that, a finality that otherwise didn't exist for a defiance he had no real control over, unless he wanted to resort to extreme measures. Comparatively, for his son's sake, banishment was the better choice since Legolas got to keep his freedom.

Ever since morning though, after all these years, Thranduil's mind had again been completely taken over by his disobedient, arrogant, intense, captivating, arousing son. Millenniums ago, Oropher, his father, had used similar words to describe Thranduil. His stomach turned over at the thought.

And his innocent child...  

A sad smile tried to form, but he didn't have the strength for it.

...Well, not so innocent. His son was battle hardened, raised for ruling.  And Thranduil knew of his son's previous lovers despite how he'd tried to hide them, although 'lover' was probably too strong of a word for the momentary flings.  But that had been long ago.  He didn't want to think about Legolas' current bed companions after fifty-nine years away from home.  The world of men was a far different place, and he feared his son becoming corrupted by it.  

The idea of a human taking his son...  Or anyone else for that matter...  He blew out a steeling breath at the thoughts. 

In the end though, his prince was truly so much like him, even if Thranduil tended to hide it better, something understandable considering Legolas' comparative youth and lack of responsibilities. That his son had those particular attributes made him ache with something close to pity.  Not that he would have said that to Legolas' face.

But truth be told, Legolas wasn't strictly disobedient.  In fact, his son was loyal to a fault to those he loved.  He forced the image of Tauriel out of his mind, lest he scare his scout from the room.

Like Legolas had said, the king couldn't control everything, and certainly not hearts.  That was the case no matter how much Thranduil wished otherwise when it pertained to his cherished son.  He didn't wish for control for Legolas' sake, considering his son's seeming resolute control, Thranduil seeing no love in Legolas' eyes that morning. Rather the king wished for control to spare himself this agony.

His teeth gritted, trying to distract himself, he looked to his scout whose mouth had barely stopped moving.  That was enough jabber from the Silvan-garbed brunette. Besides, from what he'd managed to hear, the information was little different than it'd been for the past months.

The king interrupted him with, "Have you heard word on my son's whereabouts?"

There was a distinct, though minuscule pause.  It didn't truly matter to Thranduil why it was there.  However, the mere fact that the elf had apparently been avoiding the topic, that in itself bought a sudden seething rage as Thranduil took a step forward.

Dark eyes widening slightly, the scout dropped his gaze meekly and said, "Yes, my Lord.  I was told your son has taken refuge in a nearby Silvan settlement."

After drawing in a steadying breath against his anger, closing his eyes for a brief moment, he then asked, "The one Tauriel resides?"

The elf nodded.  "Yes, my Lord."

"And those with him?"

"As far as I know, they remain with him."

Turning away, contemplating the idea of Legolas and his companions together and with Tauriel, Thranduil stared at the hard, lightless stone wall in front of him. For a brief moment, he missed the stars he seldom saw anymore.  The lights, always bringing him happiness before, now reminded him too much of his son on that night on the balcony.  A night Thranduil had lost control for the first time and dragged his son into his internal hell.

His whole body tensed for far too many reasons.  Not that this scout would have noticed.  The king always held himself unyieldingly straight, using his posture as a deterrent beyond his cold eyes.  Well, except when he lounged, and he was free to do so.  After all, most of the time, just the memory of strength was enough to tame hearts and minds, if not control them. But strength also wasn't the only way to gain compliance.  And those around him complied however he held himself.

Well, except in the case of his willful child.

Swirling the wine around in his glass, watching the liquid slosh, he said gravely, "I want him watched. Report to me on all of his actions.  In the morning, find Tauriel and tell her I wish to speak with her immediately." He wasn't so impatient as to drag her out of bed at that late hour.

"Yes, my Lord."

Keeping his eyes on the wine, he added, "Unless something has happened beyond a leaf or spider dropping to the ground, take your leave."

Clearly knowing a dismissal when he heard one, the scout bowed his head, turned on his heel, and walked back out the way he'd come.

Left alone, Thranduil couldn't help but regret again sending Legolas away earlier that day, even with the banishment he'd imposed.  But he knew why he'd refused to see him.  He didn't trust himself in his son's presence any longer.  All those years ago, his restraint had weakened.  He'd touched his son in ways he hated himself for. 

Thranduil knew enough of his own heart that he couldn't control his desire for his own flesh and blood.  Just as his own father hadn't been able to.  But unlike Oropher, the king could still control his own body and the presence of those around him, or at least he did now.  He had to, for the Legolas' sake.

But to see Legolas again... It'd taken all of the king's control to last just those moments in his presence.

Shaking his head did nothing to banish his son's beautiful face from his mind. Why had Legolas come back after all these years? 

And what his son had said... 

_'You cannot control their hearts any more than you can control mine.'_

Those words directly contradicted what Legolas had said that night in the tent.  Years ago, he'd believed Legolas' whispers, knowing he wasn't meant to hear them.  They'd brought an untold heat to his body.  It had taken everything in him to not claim his son that night after wanting for so long to do just that.

But, now, maybe what Legolas' had said that morning was true.  Perhaps the younger elf _had_ gained the control over his own heart that Thranduil desperately wanted for his own. 

At that point, he knew for sure it had been a good thing he'd controlled himself all those decades ago.  His depravity, he'd never wanted his son to know it, although at some point, considering Legolas' responsiveness and desires, the king had obviously influenced the youth into it at some point.

Perhaps the time away, Legolas' leaving him, had been a good thing as well for his son.  Some part of Thranduil was glad for that, if true, but the rest of him despaired because he still wanted him.  He wanted everything about him: his heart, his body, his very soul.

Not for the first time, he was glad his wife had passed away.  She didn't have to bear witness to how low he'd come.

Thranduil downed the rest of his wine, then poured another cupful, and drank that as well in several large drags.  Slamming the goblet down, he strengthened his resolve to keep Legolas out of his halls.  He contemplated forcing him out of his realm completely, but the depraved part wouldn't let him, at least not yet

If he could just have his son close to him.  That would be enough.  They never had to talk, nor even see each other.  But not knowing where his son was, whether or not he was safe, he couldn't do it any longer, not when Legolas had come home.

...But had he?  Perhaps he'd come home with a specific purpose.  The creature, perhaps, whom he was certain was Gollum from the description his guard had given.  Was that the only reason he was here?  Was he going to leave again now?  Would he dare?

But... Even if Legolas did leave eventually, at least his prince was safe for now where he belonged.

Not wanting to think about it any longer, breathing in and out a heavy breath with closed eyes, he fought back tears only his wife and son could draw from him.  Nearly silent booted footsteps took him through the passageways that lead to his bedchamber. 

In the large, lavish room, he removed his crown, placing it on the small pillow on the dresser.  He slipped off his jewelry and put it there as well.  Then off came his floor-length open robe, long coat, pants, and underclothes.  He draped over a hook what needed to be.  The rest he folded neatly, leaving them on a stool for his servant to retrieve later to clean and put away.  He was left in nothing but his nakedness, not noticing the chill of the stone room. 

The iciness of the blankets, however, he did notice.  They reminded him of how alone he was.  That there was now someone he loved so close by, yet he couldn't have him.  He refused to let himself have him.  He had to protect Legolas from the world as much as he had to protect him from his king.

Tomorrow.  Tomorrow he would question Tauriel.  And then hopefully his questions would be answered.  Then he could figure out the best course of action, all without needlessly involving Legolas.

It took far too long for sleep to claim him.  His dreams were no more bearable.  They were too much like the nightmares of years past where he could do nothing to save his son and wife.  He awoke with a headache, as well as an ache in his heart.  He drank deeply from the flask of water at his bedside, trying to rehydrate after a day of drink.

Shortly after, a servant knocked on the door, one of the few in the king's private halls.  "My Lord, Tauriel is here at your command."

Thranduil growled as the memories of yesterday came flooding back.  He was in no mental state to see the elf and be reasonable at the same time.  Even he knew that.  Although rarely did rationality and Tauriel go together at the same time for him anymore.

Instead of sending her away though, he rose and dressed himself in a robe he tied at the front with a sash.  He didn't bother with anything else and instead walked out the door, down the hallway, following the servant to the open receiving room. 

At his approach, the female turned around and offered him a small smile.  He didn't smile back.

She'd changed little since the last time he'd seen her many months before at one of the infrequent feasts he was occasionally forced to attend for the sake of appearance.  She bowed her head for a moment in greeting and said, "My Lord, you wished to see me?"

"Yes," was all he managed for a short while before he walked over to the table with a fresh flask of wine and filled his cup again.  She watched him with a weariness he could feel clotting the air.  It made him want to throw her out.  But he didn't since he was the one who'd asked for her presence.  "I would like to know what transpired between you and my son yesterday."

Tauriel was quiet for a few moments, but he allowed that.  Even though she surely knew why she'd been called here the moment she'd received the summons, he also knew her mind was like a workhorse, forever contemplating, trying to figure things out.  He knew her well.  He'd basically raised her, after all, after her parents were killed.

Finally, she said, "He came to my home.  We held a feast in his honor, for his return, for he was dearly missed by all." Yes, he was. "We spoke, and then..."

Thranduil turned his head to stare at her, already impatient.  "And then, what?"

"Well, he left for a short while into the woods.  But he came back and joined us again well into the night."

"Why did he leave you?"

Her dark eyes flickered to him before looking away again.  She took to wringing her hands together.  "We talked about you, my Lord."

The king swallowed at that.  It was obviously inevitable that people talked about him.  But that didn't stop his swelling dread at what might have been said, nor his desire to lash out at the much younger elf.  That she would dare talk to his son about him...  It bothered him so much because he couldn't imagine it being a good conversation, good for Thranduil anyway.

She was quiet again for a moment, but then murmured, "I told him that you miss him and love him.  And that I missed him as well, that I am forever in his debt."

When silence took over again, he accused with, "That cannot be why he left."

"No...  I asked him why he left all those years ago."

"And why did he say he left?"

"He...  He said he was not the son you deserved.  I told him he was wrong, that you love him more than anything."

"He left you because of that?"

"No..."  Her lips pressed together, still not meeting his gaze.  He had a bit of sympathy for her at her obvious reluctance to speak.  She knew his anger and decisiveness better than most.  "I spoke of his banishment.  I told him that he...  He broke your heart."

Thranduil stared at her, suddenly at a loss as to what to say to that.  While it was true in a way, it definitely wasn't the whole story.  But she couldn't possibly know the whole story, not with the certainty he had that Legolas had never told anyone what Thranduil had done to him.  At least, no one had ever come accusing in the past decades.

"You think he left at the idea of breaking my heart?"

If that was even remotely true, then why had Legolas left that morning after the battle?  Because he wasn't a good son?  Didn't Legolas realize leaving did nothing to promote the idea of being a good son?  In fact, it'd been the exact opposite when the king had found his bed empty.  Not that he'd thought of Legolas as bad for doing it, but rather the king had thought himself as the wrong one for...

The memory of Legolas' body against him filled him with an unwelcome heat.  He turned away, trying to steel himself yet again, but for some reason he was unable to at that moment.

"My Lord?"

"Is that all that happened?"

"Well, when he came back, I never truly spoke to him again.  He joined in on the festivities, and then he went to sleep.  I have not seen him yet this morning."

"What of his companions?"

"Gollum has come under our care at Legolas' request.  Strider, he slept with Legolas in the room we provided."

Platinum blonde hair swinging, Thranduil whipped his head to glare at the younger elf. "Slept with him?"

Legolas' companion and 'sleeping partner' was the very one he'd sent his son to find?  He couldn't help but feel betrayed and regretful at the same time.

Eyes wide at the sudden aggression, she opened her mouth but nothing came out. Then, she said quietly, "I...  You cannot mean...  They only seemed to be friends, my Lord."

The words did little to still his mind.  He looked away again.  "Go about your duties, Tauriel."

Her presence was overwhelming as she stood there, clearly wanting to continue the conversation, but soon enough, before he lashed out, she walked past and left him alone.

Now, he couldn't get yet another image out of his head:  Legolas and this human...  Together...  And that was completely and utterly his own fault.  

What grew in him was a determination to destroy his mistake.


	5. Chapter 5

Aragorn groaned, again, his fingers pressing at his clenched eyes. Legolas matched it, though inwardly.   There were certain things begging to be accomplished at that moment, courses of action that all revolved around his father.  Instead, he was nursing a hangover.

Ever since they'd emerged from the small storage room that had doubled as their temporary bedroom, making it no further than that, the tracker's hand had barely left his face, shielding the noon light that beamed through the breaks in the trees. Seated on the walkway high above the ground, his legs hanging over the edge, Aragorn swayed a bit when he tried to straighten his back. An apparent lost cause, he gave up and rested his forehead back against the lower railing. A scratchy throat asked, "What breed of orc's piss did we drink last night?"

Fairing a bit better than his companion, his back resting against the high railing, Legolas managed a grin that looked more like a cringe. "Wine from Laketown at first, which is rather potent in itself. But we switched to some homebrew midstride."

"I vaguely remember... The stuff that set my whole chest aflame?"  Aragorn snorted and then cringed.  "Elves and their alcohol tolerance..." Bracing himself with one hand on the railing, he tilted his head back a bit for another tender sip of water from a flask, then grumbled, "Well, never let me near it again...  And you noticed the pair of eyes on you?"

"Yes, a while ago."

Legolas took a swing of the offered flask, handing it back after, and didn't bother looking to the scout who had been watching them from a distance since they'd reentered the world of the living near noon. Well, half-living. They weren't the only ones nursing their foreheads or bellies, the numbing effect of the alcohol having long since passed.

"Your father?"

"Yes," Legolas said, closing his eyes and letting the sun warm him from the late February chill.

Who else could it be, after all?

The notion of his father tracking his whereabouts didn't surprise him. Not really. But he didn't understand why the elvenking would put resources into such a pointless task.

Was it to keep him breaking into the halls? The fortress was protected by magic against that very thing. Not to mention, by then, whether from his father's mouth or from the rumors of a guard dismissed from his post, the guards, servants, and residents had surely gotten renewed notice to keep him out.

Or was it to be sure he did nothing unscrupulous? He supposed he didn't have the best reputation against that anymore, even though the elves around him apparently nonetheless still saw him as kin.

Or perhaps it was some form of fatherly concern? Although if it was concern, Thranduil hadn't bothered with that emotion for over two millenniums. Why start again now?

Whatever the reason, if Thranduil truly wanted to know what he was doing, all he had to do was ask, but the prince didn't see that happening willingly any time soon. Aragorn had some stiff competition in the arena of stubbornness.

Aragorn tilted his head up with great care, shielding his eyes. "Well, perhaps you should go talk to her then. She _is_ a direct link to your father. That is, if you still seek to mend a heart."

Legolas swallowed at the unwanted color swarming up on his cheeks.  He didn't dare look down to meet his friend's eyes, afraid of what his own would admit, even though Aragorn had unfortunately picked up on far too much already.  And all in just over a day back in his father's kingdom...  So much for fifty-nine years of keeping a tight lip. "You remember that?"

"I can hold my liquor.  A bit, at least," the tracker said with a touch of humor, nothing else, and that confused Legolas to no end. 

That Aragorn could be so accepting over something so wrong...  Maybe the elf was assuming too much.  Maybe Aragorn didn't realize the full extent, and Legolas was worrying for nothing.  He could only hope. He wasn't about to ask.

Light blue eyes closed, and he drew in a steadying breath.  It didn't work, his stressed-out body suddenly feeling too drained to hold itself upright.  Thank goodness for the support at his back. Embarrassment, remorse, sorrow, anger, everything stewed in his already uneasy gut.

"Legolas..."

The elf couldn't force any kind of reply, and thankfully his friend didn't push it any further.  It was a few minutes before he felt strong enough to reopen his eyes with determination.  A stare to the distant scout's direction got her gaze instantly turned elsewhere. But then she visibly sighed and turned her head back.

An opening if he'd ever seen one.  "Stay here and try not to fall off."

After Aragorn's pained snort, a bit dizzy, Legolas started over maze of walkways and bridges, glad he didn't fall over himself. She watched him wearily but held her spot. When he got close, she walked forward to meet him.

Inclining her head, an embarrassed ruddiness on her cheeks, she murmured, "My Lord."

"Could you give a message to my father for me?"

She met his gaze again, her brows raised, but then she forced neutrality. "It is another who reports to the king. However, I will gladly relay your message for you."

Legolas smiled at her. "Good enough." Blowing out a breath, he set his sights to the distance, not really seeing anything. His lips pressed together at his sudden renewed burning frustration over all things about his father. Straining to keep his voice steady, he nearly whispered, "Tell him that I love him and that I beg for his forgiveness. Every day, tell him I said that until he gets it into his head and accepts it as the truth. Can you do that for me?"

The scout inclined her head again but smiled. "Those are words you should tell him yourself. ...If only you could. I will do my part to fulfill your command." Her dark eyes lifted back up, and her smile reached them. "We are glad for your return, my prince."

No matter how many times he heard that final sentence, it still managed to grate on him. But he couldn't find the strength to state otherwise.

He  _was_ leaving again and soon, no matter that he'd momentarily felt different in his father's presence and the night before. He had no intention of staying beyond fixing the damage he'd caused. Even if he tried to stay, how could he survive it or his father, mentally or physically? 

Being on his own and away from all of this, he'd finally felt something akin to the happiness he'd felt as a child.  No, he wouldn't have called himself happy, but it had been close enough to stop drowning in his life and in his father's overwhelming need for control and obedience in all things.

But the more he heard the welcoming words, over and over and over again... He could almost feel the switch in his heart, and it scared him.

Decades before, he'd been at his father's beck and call. So willing to serve him with his body, mind, and heart. But Tauriel's rebellion had changed that. Perhaps because she'd been someone he actually cared deeply about, and Thranduil had only worked to separate them as he'd done with countless others.

Or perhaps it was because he'd finally forced himself to admit that his father wasn't the perfect creature the heir had always thought him to be.

Or maybe it came from that realization that he could never make Thranduil happy, no matter how much he tried. The king wanted the world and the utmost obedience from all in it. Even when Legolas tried to give him everything he desired, it was never enough. There would also be something else. 

...The prince himself had never been enough, never obedient enough, never controlling enough over his own heart and mind.  No, his father never really spoke outwardly of his disapproval, but Legolas could always see it in his piercing eyes.

And even when he tried to please him, the king was... so difficult to please. It was even difficult to know when he was pleased.

But... those times they'd touched around the time of the war... Those moments had been different, so intimate, so loving. They'd given him hope. But in the end, each touch had ended so much the same as every other encounter, with either Legolas or his father walking away, effectively ending any hint of closeness.

But suddenly he was so tired of walking away. So unbelievably exhausted that he just wanted...  Just a bit of peace between his father and himself, well, peace that lasted longer than a few minutes.  Was that too much to ask for?

Legolas refocused on the scout who had been watching him, probably waiting for his dismissal, but maybe also curious from the look in her eyes. "Could you tell him one more thing for me?"

"Of course."

"Tell him I swear I will never walk away from him again, if he can promise me the same."

Frowning slightly, the scout opened her mouth to say something, but then merely closed it and nodded.

With a nod, too afraid to speak again and risk tears, he walked back to Aragorn who watched him.  The scout watched his back.  Everyone watched him, it seemed.  In a complete reversal, he suddenly wanted to grab Aragorn and get out of there.  To just leave everything behind again and never look back.

Was any of this worth the pain?  Something inside of him screamed, 'Yes,' but it was a dim scream, at least for that moment.

When he arrived back at his friend's side, he whispered to evade prying ears, "I hate this place."

Aragorn was quiet for a moment, but then sighed back, "I know."

The days trickled by, growing the urge to just leave.  He could do nothing to help his people at the rate this was going.  The elves around him were as much at the king's mercy as he was.  Every day that followed only proved that fact.  Besides a change of heart, the only thing that could have stopped the king at that point was an uprising, but obviously, as they went on about their lives, Thranduil had every single elf under his thumb as much as he had Legolas there.

If only Thranduil would do something more extreme than merely rule.  The king governed well enough to keep the population happy, and not harshly enough to anger them. 

Legolas had to hand it to him: His father knew how to rule.

That was the first week.

Before the week became two weeks, to occupy themselves instead of merely muddling around, Aragorn and himself joined in on keeping the kingdom safe from the dangers crawling up from the south.  The scout joined as well, basically by force, but she voiced no complaints outwardly.  She was used to the forest herself.  The ranger had no complaints either, although he had minimal experience in trees.  He managed to get more than one snicker and laugh from the elves around him.  But, laughing with them, that didn't stop him from trying.

Another week passed. At the end of it, the darkness of late evening overhead, the group of them, along with a few other sentinels, sat in front of a small fire, a routine to ease their worked muscles on the chilly nights.  They drank, talked, and sang, a welcome camaraderie that had once been Legolas' life when he'd lived among them.

The main difference between that moment and the past though was that the prince could no longer retire to his own bed.  He and Aragorn slept in the same storage room, although not from a lack of being offered better accommodations.  He didn't want to put his kin out, not when he still felt in the back of his mind that he'd again leave one day, especially with Aragorn's increasing restlessness to do just that.  This was the longest they'd stayed in one spot for some years.  He didn't want it to appear like he was going to stay. That evening, no one seemed preoccupied with that though.

Well, except for Aragorn apparently, as the human leaned over and said near his ear, just loud enough to be heard, "I have the strangest feeling we could go on like this for years.  I begin to believe you told me the truth about your father."

Legolas smiled sadly, watching the flickering of flames.  "I begin to believe those words myself."

After taking a drag from his pipe, Aragorn blew out a thin trail of smoke that doubled as a sigh.  "What would get your father to show his face?  I had hoped to meet the elf."

"I..."  The elf shook his head slightly and closed his eyes.  "I have no idea anymore.  Perhaps he truly no longer sees me as his son."

They sat quietly for a moment before Aragorn asked, "You spoke the other day about how he attempted to sabotage your relationships with others, those beneath you, which amounted to pretty much everyone...  Do you...  Do you think that could be from jealousy?"

Legolas' eyes flickered to the other elves, but they seemed lost in their own conversations.  The prince suddenly wished he hadn't been so open with Aragorn lately.  His gut burned at the idea of Thranduil being jealous, at the truth he saw in it.  He _had_ considered the idea before, but had also always dismissed it as a part of his own lust.

Even though he knew exactly what Aragorn meant, he couldn't help some bit of hopeless denial when he asked, "Jealousy?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw dark eyes study his face, making his cheeks turn pink.  "If you made him jealous..."  Legolas turned his head a bit so that he could look at his friend, not able to believe what seemed to be going through Aragorn's head, let alone what he might be suggesting.  "If I kissed you..." His gruff voice trailed off, leaving Legolas breathless at the idea. 

"But you love another."

Aragorn smiled, looking down to his thumb caressing the pipe.  "A human heart is not as simple as an elf's when it comes to love."

Pink cheeks turned red.  The elf looked to his lap, hoping to fend off anyone possibly noticing.

"Legolas..." The tracker cleared his throat and looked up cautiously.  "I would never try to steal my way into your heart.  I know it to be impossible.  I want to help you.  My only desire is to see you happy."

The words did nothing to dim the elf's raging heart.  He couldn't believe what he was hearing, the heat and truth in the words...  If they were in any way true, Aragorn had a true gift at being able to hide his feelings.  "I...  I did not know..."

"I never wanted you to know, but...  I fear I may never see you after you enter those halls again. I could not part without..."  Aragorn cleared his throat again and drank a few large, audible gulps from his mug.  He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and then mumbled, "Forgive me.  Selfishness is a sad human trait."

Legolas smiled weakly and clutched his own mug tighter.  "It is also an elf's, believe it or not.  We just hide it better."

Fingers touched his cheek, and Legolas closed his eyes in hopeless denial of who was so near.

Aragorn leaned forward to whisper at his ear.  "It will mean nothing." The words were a hot breath at his cheek that smelled of wine and smoke.

A tingling in Legolas' gut betrayed him.  He hadn't felt such a touch for far too long.  Neither from his father nor his past lovers.  And all he could wish was that the touch was his father's, making his remorse for both Thranduil and Aragorn so strong that it made him ill.  "It could never mean nothing."

Lips trailed over his cheek to his lips.  Conversations quieted.  He could feel eyes on them.  But he didn't stop the advance. 

What else was he to do?  Throw himself off of a tree or something, hopefully injuring himself enough to bring his father out of his hiding place?  But that action depended on his father even caring enough in the first place.  Nor could he create unrest.  His people went through enough with their daily lives.  He could never be selfish enough to make their lives worse.

What other choice did he have?  Screaming at the top of his lungs until the elf heard him?  Leaving again and hoping his father chased him down?  Setting the forest ablaze?  How much was this love worth?

Everything.  It was worth every star in the sky.  His every breath.  But...

Yes, he loved his father, in ways a son never should, but that was his burden to bear alone if his father refused him.

Then the lips were at his own, kissing him softly.  A tongue caressed his lips and he let it in deeper, meeting it with his own.  He felt faint as Aragorn's callused fingers pressed against both his cheeks, holding him, discouraging any attempt to pull away from Aragorn's increasingly hungry mouth.   The only things he could hear were the soft cracklings of the fire, the meeting of their mouths, and his own heartbeat hammering in his head.  He'd never felt more confused and helpless in all of his life.  At least it felt that way at that moment.

When Aragorn pulled away, both of them breathless, Legolas couldn't open his eyes.  He merely sat there, letting the tracker caress his heated cheeks with his thumbs.  The show over, slowly, the conversations picked back up, although they were now reserved.

Still near his face, his breath still smelling of the smoke Legolas could now taste, Aragorn whispered, "Are you all right?"

"Yes." Legolas sniffed and then pressed his wet lips together. 

A thick finger brushed at that wetness.  "Let us pray it works."

Sky blue eyes cracked opened.  Could this truly make his father jealous?  The idea enflamed him and drew up inevitable fear for his friend whom he loved, even though it wasn't the same kind of love Aragorn apparently felt for him. 

"If your theory holds any truth..." Legolas couldn't help his small hack of a laugh, a worthless attempt to still his growing trepidation.  "If he comes, you better be far, far away from me when he does."


	6. Chapter 6

The group of council members stood up from the couches and stepped down the stairs, the meeting thankfully finished with a little bit accomplished.  Just enough for them to act like they'd done something, and, at the same time, enough remaining on the agenda to keep their posts secure.  They had it down to an art form, really.  When they'd passed, the head scout emerged from his corner on the walkway, climbed the stairs, and approached the throne. 

The elf's report was now one of Thranduil's most favored and most loathed parts of his day, instead of being merely a nuisance.  Favored because it brought news of his son.  Loathed for the same reason. 

Every morning, well, every moment of his wakefulness, Thranduil had to restrain himself, holding himself true to his vow to leave Legolas to the life his son wanted.  He'd hoped with the passage of time that the reports would become easier to listen to, that the wait before the next one wouldn't drive him to what felt like the edge of sanity. 

Really, why was he even doing this to himself?  His son wasn't a child any longer.  Legolas didn't need supervision, nor a spy.  His son had always had his trust, if not approval, before these last three weeks.  What had changed so greatly that he now couldn't imagine not knowing his son's actions, his very thoughts if he could discover them?

Was keeping tabs on his heir merely because of the lust which Thranduil couldn't free himself of, even for the sake of his son?  Was it over a fear of abandonment from the one he loved so dearly?  Both were poor excuses though, especially for a father regarding his son.

It wasn't the first time he'd considered ending the scouts' watchful task, to spare himself this agony.  But he could never voice the command.  He couldn't bear hearing about his son's escapades with that human, just as much as he couldn't bear merely imagining what his son was doing at that moment.  It was a stalemate with no winner.  At least not one so far.

And every day he had to endure the torturous ritual of hearing the words from Legolas' lips on the lips of his scout:  _Legolas requested you to be told that he loves you and that he begs for your forgiveness. He swears he will never walk away from you again, if you can promise him the same._

While fingering the edge of his outer robe, a frown overtook the king as the scout flickered nervous glances up at him, well, much more nervous than usual.  Thranduil straightened his reclining form. 

Something had happened.  Something he clearly wasn't going to like, if the obvious urge to run playing over the scout's hesitant body was any indication.

Having no patience for piddling around, something the head scout excelled it, it seemed like, Thranduil blurted out, "What is it?"

The elf looked him in the eye for a brief second then threw his gaze down and cleared his throat but said nothing. 

Horrific possibilities flashed through his mind:  His son injured.  Bleeding out.  Dead on the ground.  And he wasn't there to save him.  It was a scene from his nightmares, ones that had only become so much worse after the war and his son's abandonment.

Then the elf cleared his throat again, leaving the king barely able contain himself, but then, thankfully, he said, "I have word on your son. Something..."

At the pause, the scout was lucky Thranduil was seated up on his throne or he would have already had his hands on him.  "Something...  What?!" 

What exactly did this elf need to motivate him into talking?  Then, as he realized probably half of the reluctance to speak came from his all-too-obvious urge to attack the source of his frustration, Thranduil drew in a heavy breath and tried to calm his expression.  Tried to relax his white-knuckled grip his hands had on the throne's armrests.  Tried to unwind overall.

The scout flickered up another glance and then said, "I-I was told he kissed the human."

Thranduil blinked at the words, his mind doing a confused flip to put itself in the right direction.  "Kissed the human?"

"Yes, my Lord."

All of the tension that he'd fought away came right back with Thranduil's confusion.  Why would this elf be so hesitant to tell him this? To anyone besides himself, this wasn't exactly dramatic news.  While relationships between elves and humans were rare, they weren't unheard of...

Then the obvious possible reason made his gut turn inside out.  This scout might know of the lust he harbored for his own son. And if he did, who else knew?  Suddenly every look in his direction over the millenniums became suspect.

Steeling himself against thrashing emotions, he asked, "Is there anything else that requires immediate attention?"

"No, my Lord."  The elf would no longer meet his eyes.  A slight flush played over his cheeks.

He knew...

Mortified, with far less strength than usual, Thranduil nonetheless growled, "Then leave." 

Immediately, the scout nodded and walked back down the stairs.  Thranduil looked to the two guards, elves who were more of a formality than anything.  The king could hold his own to most threats that might breach their walls. 

"All of you.  Now!"

When the clinking of armor became faint, Thranduil finally let his breathing grow haggard, humiliated and furious.  The air felt thick, unbreathable, drowning him, forcing gasps.  He buried his face in his hands, trying to stop sudden tears from spilling out of cringing face, or, at the very least, stop the pathetic noises that fought their way out of his mouth.  He felt as if he was falling apart, both his mind and his body.

Focus, he needed focus.

And there was only one thing to truly focus on at that moment.  The image of his son and that human came to the forefront and tensed every muscle, his very soul.  Weeks before, he'd decided to give Legolas the benefit of the doubt, but now...

They'd kissed?  And what else after fifty-nine years together?

Had Tauriel known what was between Legolas and Aragorn?  The thought of deceit from her infuriated him, but he wouldn’t allow himself to act on it as he couldn't see it as true.  No.  She'd never been a liar, her courage and love too great.

But Legolas, on the other hand...  Feelings of utter betrayal from his son reemerged, ones he'd tried to smash down for the last three weeks.  For decades. 

For these last few weeks, his son had dared to proclaim love and commitment every day while in the arms of that human?  He'd dared to draw up thin trails of hope in Thranduil's heart, only to cut them mercilessly?  Had Legolas meant any word of it? 

Thranduil shook his head, his teeth grinding, his hands clawing at his face.  No, his son couldn't be that cold, the impassioned creature that he was. More likely Thranduil himself had taken the words too far, to an extent a father never should.  Perhaps he had completely misunderstood his son's intentions.  Perhaps Legolas had only been speaking of the normal love a son should have for his father.  Perhaps the prince _had_ gained the control Thranduil obviously still didn't have.

He needed control.  He needed...

What he needed to do was destroy that human, the cause of all of this, like he'd intended to do weeks before.  If only to make himself feel a bit better, since, either way, Legolas was obviously never going to be his.  And with that renewed need, all of his focus, discontent, and rage latched onto Aragorn. After all, surely, if he hadn't sent his son to that ranger, Legolas wouldn't have been gone for so many years because...  Because every moment of those years Legolas had been in the human's arms, while Thranduil himself had suffered alone.  And that human... 

That human had dared to take _his_ child in ways that was _his_ right alone.

Even as some part of him knew the thoughts to be irrational, he couldn't stop dwelling on them until every image in his head of his son and that human together was red with rage. 

And, truly, it _was_ both of them...  Together, they had done this.  It wasn't the human alone, no matter how much he wished otherwise.

Every ragged breath made his son more wicked in his eyes.  That they would dare come to his land, force their way in, and fornicate like whores against all elven morality and laws...  Spilling their seed, polluting this land with their humanistic debauchery.  Had they no shame?  No desire to keep their heads attached?

Thranduil growled deep in his throat and looked towards the distant entryway to the halls. 

No.  No more.  He could take no more of it.

Gripping the hilt of his sword at his side as an assurance that it was there and ready to use, he was off of the throne, down the stairs, and stalking to the main doors, all with no real thought in his head other than to stop this horrid pain inside of himself that his son caused every day.  In one way or another, he had to sever this binding to Legolas that crippled his heart.

For the first time in months, he stepped out into the early morning sun, ordering the guards to remain at their posts as he stormed by.  He let the forest consume him, stalking directly to where he knew Tauriel's settlement to be.

The first elf he came across, one pulling a wagon behind him with a barrel of wine inside, he grabbed the startled elf by the arm, pulling him around.  "Find me Legolas!"

Wide-eyed, the relatively young elf, whom the king vaguely recalled from outdoor feasts, bobbed his jaw up and down, before he managed, "I-I saw him back the way I came, my Lord."  He pointed in that direction.  "He and that human..."

The words trailing off seemed to be a direct result of Thranduil's suddenly rage-filled face.  He released the elf with a thrust and stormed off in the direction the elf had pointed.

Calls and laughter filled the air the further he went in that direction.  One voice in particular he knew to be his son's, after millenniums of hearing its humor, sorrow, backtalk, conversations, songs, denouncements, fury, and words of love.  It took several minutes before he saw the source of the din.  A group of three sentinels had their backs to him.  Their noise made his quiet approach easy. It was easy enough to see the source of their enthrallment between their laughing bodies.

On the ground, on his belly, lay his panting son with one arm behind his back and gripped by the human who was straddling him over his hips.  The human's other hand had a fistful of hair, forcing Legolas' chin to the ground as the elf looked to the long dagger far away from his head.  A sword rested on the side where the elf had no use of his arm.

"Say it!" the human growled out, a grin on his face.

"Get off me, you wretched mortal, or your life will end far sooner than you had imagined!"

"Not until you say it, elf," Aragorn jeered, leaning in closer so that his torso almost laid over his son's back.  Then he whispered something, and Legolas burst out laughing, his eyes clenching shut.

The rage in the king dwarfed under an emotion Thranduil couldn't put a name to.  He could only stand there behind the elves, slightly slack jawed, even though what he was seeing wasn't all that shocking.  He just...  He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard his son laugh like that.  Had he ever heard him laugh like that, except when he'd been very small?

Legolas' head turned, his cheek coming to the ground, looking right in his direction.  A second later, light blue eyes wide, staring right at his king, Legolas went board still.  Then he struggled as if his life depended on it, which transfixed every elf and the human in the area. 

"Get off me!  Now, you bastard!"  His panic-filled voice broke Aragorn, Thranduil, and the elves all out of their trances.

Aragorn looked in the direction Legolas was looking, along with the other elves.  His dark eyes went wide.  His hands released their grips on Legolas, and pushed away, the human coming up to a staggering stand.  Legolas then pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, and then to his feet, never taking his wide eyes off of his father.  Thranduil's heaving chest nearly matched his son's.  The youth's cheeks were flushed, dirty, and so full of life that he almost didn't look like his son.

Between a heave, Legolas blurted out, "Adar..."

Crowned and dressed regally for an audience, the king was out of place in the forest amongst the Silvan elves, as well as his son and the human. Wary eyes were all on him.  He suddenly felt quite out of place and utterly unwelcome.  And his son's eyes...  He didn't know what he saw there.

Wanting to be away with his son from these people, without further thought, he broke past the sentinels and charged at the prince.  Legolas backed up a step but otherwise held his ground, steadily looking further and further up at him with wide eyes. He grabbed Legolas by the upper arm and kept going, hauling him into the forest.  There wasn't a word of protest behind them.  No one had even moved, in fact.  But he didn't care about them.

Nearly a minute later, every step became harder until finally he came to an abrupt halt, forcing Legolas to do the same.  Legolas gulped breaths as he stared up at him, a panic in his eyes. 

Panic?  What for?  Was he afraid of him? 

Then he remembered why the heir might be afraid.  The remembrance renewed his anger.  His other hand clawed at the back of his son's head, fingers getting a grip on his disarrayed hair.  Disarrayed from Aragorn.  He forced the youth's head back.  Legolas gasped at the harshness. 

And the prince was right to be afraid.  In that moment, there were an infinite number of things Thranduil wanted to say to his son, do to him, all with rage and jealousy layered in lust.

"You are mine, Legolas.  Not his!  Do you understand me?"  When the prince didn't reply immediately, only stared at him in undeniable shock, Thranduil jarred the hand gripping his son's soft hair, making Legolas cringe in pain, his mouth opening, but the youth didn't fight back.  "Do you understand me?! Answer me!"

"Yes, adar," the younger elf blurted out, "Yes, I understand!"

The words did nothing to settle him. In fact, it was the opposite, because he didn't believe them, no matter how honest they seemed, despite the coercion.  His child hadn't been his for over two millenniums.

"Do _not_ lie to me, iônneg."

Those words brought a nostalgic glare to his son's face. "What do you want me to say then?  That I will never be yours?"

"I want you to tell me the truth!  Do you belong to that human?  Did you give yourself to him?"  Thranduil jerked Legolas' head again with his white-knuckled grip. "Has he taken you?"

The mutual glare lasted only a few seconds longer, Thranduil wanting to rip the answer out of his son's head.  Then Legolas' face morphed into the complete opposite, tears coming to his eyes as a sob racked his body.

"Do you love him, iônneg?!  Tell me!"

"Of course I love him!" 

Another sob racked his son.  But when Legolas opened his mouth to speak again, Thranduil slammed the hand that had been gripping his arm over his son's mouth, effectively holding his head in a vice.  The youth looked up at him with wide eyes and finally started to fight, clawing at Thranduil's chest, then his arms, trying to pull the one over his mouth away.  His son was no match for his brutal strength.  Tears fell freely from Legolas' eyes, but couldn't dampen the larger elf's rage.

That declaration of love should have been the end of it.  Thranduil should have let his son go.  A true father would have let his son go.  Instead, he let go of Legolas' mouth, at least, but then dragged him to the nearest tree, and shoved him against it so that his chest was solidly against it, his face turned to the side.

"You _are_ mine," he growled at Legolas' ear. 

The elf's open sobs couldn't stop the hand that roamed down and tried to prove that point.  But the hand _did_ stop the sobs, which ended with a choking sound, Legolas suddenly going completely still.  The change registered a moment later after he'd gripped a clenched cheek at his son's backside through layers of cloth.  Legolas' breaths picked back up and his eyes closed, in a display that Thranduil could only see as desire.

Why was Legolas suddenly giving in to him?  So willing to be molested or raped even by his own father?  Was his son so much of a whore that he'd take any touch offered to him?

But as his hand went in between those legs, he realized he didn't care.  Not anymore.  Because he son was never going to have another in his bed.  If that took chaining the prince to his own bed, so be it.  The mere idea sent a wave of heat through him, hardening his length.

Thick fingers began rubbing along the crack of Legolas' backside, pressing in between the cheeks over the cloth, creating a rhythm that could only be one thing.  Legolas' breaths caught over and over again between weak, breathy moans.  Then his hips ground like an animal at the bark of the tree.  That only drove Thranduil's lust.  He covered the shorter elf with his weight, bending his knees slightly, grinding himself against his buttocks, probably making it difficult for the youth to breathe, but the grinding only made Legolas' moans louder.  Legolas came up on his toes, his arms bent and fingernails gripping at the tree.

"Unless you favor their death," Thranduil hissed against the younger elf's turned cheek, near his ear, their grinding never stopping, "No one but me will ever touch you. Do you understand me?"

Between sucking in a breath, Legolas whimpered, "Yes, I understand.  Please..."

"Please, what?"

"Please."

His son's breaths and moans reached a new height, and Thranduil realized he was about to come, even with the rough treatment, or perhaps because of it.  Suddenly though, the king wanted to be in him, to feel that first release tightening around his cock as he pounded into him.  And he wanted to do that properly in his bed as he claimed his son. At that thought, he pulled away without mercy to either of them, grabbed his son's forearm, and forced him in the direction of the halls.  At first, Legolas' feet dragged a bit, his confusion and arousal clear in his heavy breaths, but soon enough he fell into step at his side. 

Both of their breaths untamed, Legolas looked up at him, but stayed silent otherwise.  He wouldn't be silent for long.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A part of this chapter is a retelling of the last from Legolas' POV, because I want people to know what he was thinking during their encounter.  If you'd rather not read that, I put a break where the last chapter left off. Just scroll down to find it. :)

 

 _~_  A few minutes earlier ~

 

_'He is not the same as you remember.'_

Their skin wet from Legolas' frustrated, panicked tears, those words from weeks before echoed in the heir's mind, right before Thranduil's hand released his mouth and the larger elf forced his son to stumble along by the unforgiving grip on his hair. The prince hadn't believed the guard on that day, and that disbelief had gotten the guard removed from his post. Even then, Legolas hadn't believed. Now, as his father shoved him chest-first against a tree, total belief still eluded him, his sobs his denial. A chase after better times. When Legolas had lived in the halls, his father had never, never been this abandoned in his wrath and possessiveness, at least not with his son. He could barely wrap his mind around it.

A son wasn't supposed to fear his father. He didn't want to fear him, especially since he had most likely been the one to bring this about. But he couldn't help the trepidation in every hammering heartbeat. Yes, he'd purposely lit a fire with that ill-conceived kiss. However, reality was far more treacherous than his imaginings, and he forced himself to admit that now, at the very least. ...But at least Aragorn was safe. For now.

Legolas figured at this point that, perhaps, he should believe that guard now. Perhaps the king truly wasn't rational anymore.

But whatever madness had overtaken his king, Thranduil was still his father, the very person who had claim over him, whether or not the king realized it. As such, Legolas wasn't even remotely close to giving up on him, as if he ever truly could.

At the younger elf's cheek, Thranduil's breath hot and vaguely scented with sipped wine, he growled, "You  _are_  mine."

The words made the Legolas' heart hammer harder, because he knew they were true in every way they could be. And to hear them again that day from his father's lips... Did the older elf have the slightest understanding how true those words were? Legolas doubted it, considering Thranduil's harsh, one-sided interrogation a minute before. The king had barely even allowed him a breath to explain himself, had probably only heard what he'd wanted to hear.

He never should have said he loved the human, just as he shouldn't have done a lot of other things. He knew that. He'd been impulsive. Frustrated with the desire to tell Thranduil the truth and to have his father accept it. But those words had also been a childish need to shove that truth in his father's face because Thranduil clearly didn't want it to be true.

This was more or less a repeat of every friendship Legolas had ever tried to have. The difference was that this particular friend was one Thranduil had actually encouraged him to seek out. But obviously the king hadn't meant for him to love the human.

Then, blanking out the younger elf's mind as his breath caught in his throat, Thranduil's free hand started a firm, contouring stroke down the length of his back, one like no other by his father. It was a touch Legolas had long desired but had given up hoping for. His mind reeled before drowning in heat. When the hand cupped his tense cheek, his length hardened, even while he tried to control himself. 

The heir couldn't believe this was happening, any of it. His eyes closed against dizziness as his breaths became struggles.

The fingers slipping between his legs, however, he couldn’t deny as he moaned. They nudged at his tightening sack, making him lose his breath again, hardening him further until his cock was pained. Then the fingers stroked him ruthlessly, pressing further and further in between his cheeks, until he could feel the abrasive brushes against his entrance. His breathing erratic, he couldn't stop his moans, nor his grinds against the tree to break the tension in his groin that begged for release.

Then came his undoing. Drawing all of his focus, his father pressed his body fully against him, grinding a hardness Legolas could feel through layers of cloth on the upper part of his backside. Help him, his father was too tall. The prince came up on his toes, clawing at the tree, trying to get the length where he wanted it, wishing they were undressed and he could be claimed by it at that moment like he'd wanted for so long.

Their grinding never stopping, when the king snarled out against his cheek, Legolas barely understood him, the words filtered through the heated haze in his mind: "Unless you favor their death, no one but me will ever touch you. Do you understand me?"

It took a few seconds before his mind could give the words their full meaning and know them as the truth. Because he wanted just that. He didn't want another to touch him. For nearly three millenniums, he'd only ever wanted his father's touch, even while in the arms of his previous lovers. Even when Aragorn had kissed him. Desperate for the completion, Legolas even wanted this near assault by his father, if that was the only way he would get what he wanted.

And he wanted to possess his father as well, to own his body, mind, and heart. And he had a feeling now that Thranduil did. The idea set him aflame.

_I'm so unreasonable, so selfish. So like you._

Between sucking in a breath, Legolas whimpered, "Yes, I understand. Please..."

"Please, what?"

Couldn't Thranduil understand what he wanted? How could he not know what he wanted? No one could be that blind. Legolas wanted to beg for exactly his body wanted, to demand it from his father. Instead, all he could manage was, "Please."

Then, just as he could feel his release peaking, his father's hot breaths wet against his cheek, abruptly, Thranduil yanked away from him in what amounted to torture, especially when Legolas' forearm was gripped and he was forced to take on a quick pace. He couldn't help his disorientated stumbling. The clawing grip brought an increasing amount of pain as his arousal dissolved, no matter how he tried to hold onto it.

 

 

Breathing harshly, Legolas looked to his father, trying to comprehend with his scrambled mind this abrupt change. His father wouldn't look at him. But, in the elder elf's eyes, Legolas could see his father's desire for him. It hadn't gone away like he'd feared. Then what were they doing? He looked ahead and realized they were headed towards the halls.

_Does he truly want me? Is he taking me inside, into his bed?_

At the thoughts, dazed at the mere prospect, his length rehardened despite the harsh grip. His heart thrashed. His body grew woozy in its anticipation. Almost breathless, he whispered, "Ada..."

Only making it a short distance away from the tree, the prince then heard something that completely flopped over his impassioned world, feeling like a douse of ice water:

"Legolas!"

Thranduil stopped midstride, a snap. When his father turned sharply, Legolas was more or less forced to turn with him. Halfway through though, he turned willingly to see, wishing with everything in him that he hadn't just heard Aragorn's voice, praying the human wouldn't be foolish enough to be there. But he was. And with a look on his face that made Legolas shake his head.

_No. No, no, no._

Alone, a considerable distance away, Aragorn stalked forward with his sword in his hand, angled away from his body, pointed to the ground. It was a pose that had already accepted a fight. Thranduil released Legolas and stalked forward to meet the mortal, drawing his sword. 

With the rage beating the air around Thranduil and the determination in Aragorn's eyes, Legolas could already see death. Again, with all of his heart, he regretted his declaration of love. He regretted kissing Aragorn. He regretted leaving his father's arms that morning after the war. He regretted ever loving his father so much that it drove them all to this insanity.

At Thranduil's first step, Legolas sprinted forward, weaponless, and blocked his father's path, narrowly avoiding the draw. "Ada, do not do this!"

So many times before, he'd threatened Thranduil, knowing it'd stop him because his father loved him as a father should, would never hurt him on purpose, or, at the very least, without good reason, and had always had rationality even in his anger. But this time, with something far greater than pride or disagreement in the air, Legolas knew simple threats wouldn't end this.

Cold, hating blue eyes flickered a glace down to him, before Thranduil shoved him to the side in one solid thrust of his arm, warning him with, "Do  _not_  get in my way, hên [child]!"

Utterly unwilling to be deterred, Legolas stared forward again, barking at his friend, "Leave us, Aragorn! Now!" before he could get between them again.

This time he shoved at his father's chest, forcing him back a step, thankfully stopping him. The king glowered down at him, rage flooding out. Aragorn was still a good distance away but nonetheless moving forward from the sounds on the ground. 

Legolas grabbed at the momentary pause and hissed with as much passion as he'd ever felt, "Ada, if you hurt any part of him, you will never see me again, I swear to you."

" _You..."_ Thranduil took an aggressive step forward again and gripped the front of his tunic with his free hand. _"_ You have the audacity to swear to me?! These past weeks, you... You promised your heart to me when you belong to another!"

"I meant what I said to you! I never belonged to him!"

Still a distance away, Aragorn halted at the fervent admission.

Blue eyes narrowed. "You said you love him."

"And I do. He has been my friend for so many years, through so much. How could I not? But he is not the one who owns my heart!"

The king turned the cold stare onto Aragorn. "Your human seems to disagree with your assessment." A humorless huff grated the air before Thranduil looked back down at him. "You love him, gave your body to him, yet you are not his?" 

"Gave my body to him?" How far exactly had Thranduil taken that one kiss in his mind? "I never said -"

"Do  _not_ lie to me. Ever again," Thranduil growled low. Then he ground his teeth, his whole body stiffening with obvious pent up rage, as he glared down at his son. A second later, he shoved Legolas backwards with the grip he still had, twirled around, and stormed off towards the halls again, without him, saying over his shoulder, "Get out of my kingdom, both of you. You have until nightfall to be free of the borders, or I will have you chased down and shot like boars."

Legolas stood there, wide eyed, watching the elf storm away, barely able to breathe, let alone think. 

Coming up the last steps behind him, Aragorn said, his gruff voice catching, "Legolas, forgive me... I-I cannot bear to see him hurt you like this. I cannot stand back and just... But... But we can just leave, like we had planned to do, and..."

The king already slowing down, the ranger trailed off when Thranduil suddenly stopped again, the words surely more than loud enough for Thranduil to hear. The king's solid, strained body didn't move. Those moments were always the ones Legolas knew him to be his most dangerous. They were the moments he made a decision, and generally not a good one, hence the pause, most likely an attempt to control his temper.

"Adar..."

Breaking the breathless silence, quietly, Thranduil asked, his voice edged in what sounded like a brokenness, "Do you... truly love him?" When the heir could only open his mouth in some hopeless effort to reply, Thranduil turned his head, clearly waiting for an answer. But when one didn't come, he said with a tight voice, "I... _am_  grateful you have found love, iônneg, and so..."

Legolas bit his lip to stop from begging his father to continue, praying he would on his own. But as the seconds crept by, he finally started with, "Adar, you don't understand... You..."

_You are the one I love, have loved my whole life. There will never be another._

Legolas ached to say the words. Why wouldn't they come out? After all of this, the years, the touches, the words, the longing, the lust, why was he still so afraid to say them to his father's face? Did the fear of rejection truly outweigh a chance to have his father in every way an elf could claim another? If Thranduil did refuse him, again, could that rejection be even remotely worse than this? At least, if he was flat-out rejected, he'd have an answer.

"Ada, please... Let me come with you. I..."

When he didn't continue, after a short pause, the king snarled, "No," and stalked off into the trees. 

Deadened, breathless, Legolas could only watch him go.

"Legolas..." Aragorn said softly, a few steps away still, "He loves you... Just ignore his words and go after him."

The elf huffed, tears in his eyes, trembling, exasperated at everything, as he turned around. "Just a moment ago..."

"I-I followed and I heard you crying and..."

"You saw us?"

"Yes..." Aragorn said, watching him carefully. Color came to the prince's cheeks, and he looked away. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aragorn shake his head. "For pity's sake, you immortal fool, go after him, or you may never get to him again. Eternity, I assume, is a long, long time, and I doubt I would survive another attempt to make him jealous." Legolas turned his head to frown at the turnaround, and Aragorn smirked. Despite the smirk though, his words were grave when he added with a clear threat, "But your father would be wise to never hurt you again."

As if that was avoidable... He was sure they both knew it wasn't.

Legolas studied him a moment longer but then nodded with a strained small smile. "I will be back." 

The ranger nodded in return, trying to keep some semblance of a smile, even though Legolas could sense the underlining distress. "I assume it would be worthless to wait up for you."

The pink on his cheeks came close to red, and he forced himself to look away. "Perhaps." If all went well, yes. "I-I do love you, Aragorn, I-"

"Just go before I refuse to let you go so easily." Even though the words had been uttered lightly, the elf could still hear grasping warning.

Legolas pressed his lips together, his heart torn apart in so many directions, but then sprinted off into the trees before the heat of everything consumed his mind again and left him unable to think.  ...As if he had a rational thought at that moment. But if anyone was going to be doing any consuming of any part of him right then, he wanted it to be his father.


	8. Chapter 8

When Thranduil heard a set of pounding footsteps draw near, he slowly came to a resigned stop and closed his eyes. He could feel his son's presence getting closer and closer. A large part of him told him to keep going, to save Legolas from Thranduil's cursed mind and heart. And to save himself from more of this agony. If he'd had any love in his heart for his son, for anything, he would have kept going. Probably the reason he couldn't was because of an overabundance of unwelcome desire dragging on him like an anchor.

"Just save yourself," he whispered to the youth who couldn't yet have a chance of hearing him.

But if his son was already ignoring his impulsive command to leave his kingdom, was actually doing the opposite and running after him, well, he knew his prince well. There was more or less no chance Legolas was actually going to leave unless he had him dragged out, if Legolas was intent on staying. And... That wasn't happening. Even if he managed to give the order, he would soon take it back, he knew.

The last thing he wanted was for his son to leave again. But he didn't know how much longer he could be rational, well, then again the last thing he'd been that morning was rational. When was the last time he'd even been capable of being rational around his son. Had he ever been?

...If only his wife hadn't died. Perhaps if they'd had the life they'd been planning together, including more children, he wouldn't have put all of his focus, pride, expectations, dreams, longing, and love into Legolas. And then, when she'd died, hidden all of that away to protect him, leaving barrenness between his son and himself.

The little that was between them now... It was going to kill one of them or both of them, he feared. Or some unwilling participant. Or even a willing one. He shook his head at his previous drawing of his sword against that human whom Legolas had defended with yet more threats of abandonment, although this time, Thranduil had actually believed the threat to be true. How could he not when Legolas loved Aragorn by the admission from his own lips?

Everything that had happened in the last few weeks, the last decades... What was he even thinking anymore? He could barely even understand himself anymore.

If only Legolas would just listen to him for once and leave this land. If only he would save himself. Despite all of Thranduil's life throughout the ages, all the way back to the first age, he didn't know how much longer his mind could hold out.

The footsteps finally reached him and walked around him to face him. Legolas' heavy breaths proved his abundance of life, a life Thranduil had been blessed with three millenniums before. It took a few seconds before the younger elf said meekly, "Ada?"

Thranduil opened his eyes and looked down to the one he loved so much that it was going to destroy everything in their paths. He couldn't help his small smile at his son's cautious stare. "Where is your strength, Legolas? I let you go. You no longer have any obligation to me. Leave with him before..."

"Before what?"

"Before I do something I  _will_ regret."

The youth's face crinkled up as he took to shaking his head. "Please... Please, take me into your bed."

Said so abruptly and without warning, the simple, passionate words washed heat through Thranduil, drowning him. His teeth gritted. His body tensed until it felt pained. "Do  _not_  tempt me, iônneg. Go back to your human. Save yourself from this."

Disarrayed blonde locks fluttered as Legolas shook his head with more enthusiasm. A small tearful huff came out of the prince's trembling lips as his chin dropped to his chest. "Please, ada... Forgive me for everything. Have mercy on me. ...Do you wish my death?"

The final words caverned out his gut, leaving him hallow. "Your death?"

"Do you truly think I could live without you?"

And those words... Thranduil's denial was instant. Legolas loved the human. Had taken him into his arms for what the king presumed was decades. His son had done plenty of living without him. What could possibly be so different now?

When the silence lengthened, the prince looked back up at him, searching his face, scalding the king under its intensity. When he blinked, tears finally fell, making Thranduil feel weak. He couldn't resist bringing up his hands to wipe at them like he'd done when Legolas was a child. Back then, he'd told his son to be strong. Now... Now his son was stronger than himself. Perhaps Legolas always had been stronger. Legolas looked up at him while he did it, his breath catching. Then the tears fell harder.

"Your tears will be the death of me, iônneg," he murmured, caressing his cheeks.

To touch him felt impossibly good. Touching him just minutes before had... His stomach clenched at how he'd acted such a short time ago. Why was his son even standing here? He should have been running for his life.

Thranduil dropped his hands and walked around the younger elf, doing him a huge favor. "Go back to him." He remembered the way his son had laughed with the human. "Your happiness with him... Never take it for granted."

Behind him, Legolas pleaded again with sorrow in his voice, "Please, ada, take me to your bed."

A curse onto himself for stopping again. The king shook his head with gritted teeth, his eyes closing again to steel himself from this temptation. 

Why... Why was Legolas so persistent? So wanting to be ravaged by his own father? Had their life together truly messed the youth's mind up so badly? But how could that be after Thranduil had only spent his years avoiding such influence? Where had he gone wrong?

Trying to warn the younger elf off, he asked with the heat he felt, "Do you understand what you ask for? If you come into my bed, you will never leave it, I swear to you."

"Ada, that has been my desire for so long."

The words broke him. Made his desire so strong that it was all he could do to merely stand there and not take him to the ground at that moment. "You would have me possess you? Lay claim over you?"

"Yes, you already have my heart. My body is yours as well. ...As long as you are mine."

The words sounded unbelievable. Because they were. His son had already given himself to that human, whether or not Legolas would admit it. His prince's heart was no longer something he could give. His own, well, Legolas had had his heart from the moment his son had been conceived, a love that had surpassed anything he'd ever felt before. But it was a love doomed to be ugly because of Thranduil's own father.

Still behind him, Legolas' heavy breaths were like shocks to Thranduil's heart, each one never letting him forget who was behind him. Thranduil shook his head again, trying to resist the embodiment of temptation standing behind him.

"Please, ada."

"If you say that to me one more time, I will take you to the ground and claim you here and now."

It was proved to be a false threat when Legolas said 'please' again. Instead of taking him to the ground, Thranduil turned around, stalked to the younger elf, grabbed his upper arm and pulled him towards the halls. His son came all too willing, his body working to match Thranduil's impatient pace. The king didn't want to dawdle, or he would probably see reason and change his mind. He didn't want to change his mind. His body, which sent unbearable heat to his groin, definitely didn't want him to change his mind.

After far too long, silent except for their heavy breaths, when they reached the halls, Thranduil let go of Legolas and stalked ahead of him. He figured he must, not only for presentation, but also to give Legolas one last chance to change his mind. He doubted he'd have the strength to let him go once they reached his room.

The guards nodded to them. He ignored them, his mind too set on his destination. He wanted no other distractions. He prayed for no more. As well as wished for them in the back of his mind, since he knew this was just one more step into insanity. But that wish apparently couldn't stop his footsteps.

When he closed the bedchamber door behind himself, he turned around and looked down at his son just a couple of steps away. The prince looked back up at him cautiously, but his cheeks were flushed with the arousal hinted at by the length Thranduil could see outlined underneath layers of fabric. Seeing it made this utterly real. His own hardened at the sight. His son obviously desired him so much that, even though they hadn't touched yet, he was still hard and wanting him. If Legolas hadn't wanted him, surely there would have been more of a protest before this point.

Thranduil used that reasoning as he took a couple of steps forward so that there was only a small bit of space between them, enough to breath their heavy breaths without touching. "You have one last chance to escape me."

The words were painful to speak. He didn't want to give his son a chance to leave him. Dreaded the mere idea. But he had to speak them.

"I would never leave you for a moment, if I had that much control over our lives."

Thranduil frowned at his son, his hand coming up to cup his cheek. Legolas closed his eyes, a breathy sigh leaving his slightly parted lips. The king stroked that cheek until he felt like clawing at it, the memories of abandonment coming alive again. Barely a whisper, he asked, "Then why did you leave my bed that morning?"

Sky blue eyes blinked open and refocused on his face. His brows came down in thought, before he said, "I... I was selfish. I could no longer bear you not wanting me. I wanted to be the son you wanted, the one you deserved." His chin dropped back to his chest. "But... But I wish I had never left your bed."

"Legolas... How could I ever not want you?"

The younger elf huffed through a sudden tearful cringe. "Every time I said I wanted you, you pushed me away. For so many years. For practically my whole life. Why? Why did you always push me away?"

_To protect you from me, you foolish boy._

He couldn’t say the thought though. Instead he brought up his other hand to Legolas' other cheek and bent down, bringing their foreheads together. Legolas reached up with his own trembling, damp hands, running their fingers over Thranduil's cheeks with feather light caresses, as if he was afraid of hurting or offending him.

"Ada... I..." Legolas sucked in trembling breaths, refusing to go on.

Thranduil pulled away slightly. The youth's cheeks were now pale, sickly, and he would not look at him. The king pulled away further, trying to understand the sudden change. "What is it?"

"I... I want you to be my anacéile [soul-chosen]." The shorter elf swallowed. "I-I think you already are. I think you have been for so, so long. And I cannot remove the binding."

Taken back by the suddenness of such words, Thranduil took a step away. Finally, Legolas met his gaze with eyes that had already accepted his rejection. "You..." He shook his head in his overwhelmed confusion. "Legolas..."

Spoken from his son's lips, the word suddenly made so much make sense, even with his best efforts to deny it. 

Anacéile... It was a fateful eternal bonding to an elf he'd never experienced with his wife, although not from a lack of desire to. He'd wanted to feel that connection with her. So badly. It'd hurt her when she'd realized it'd never formed, even after their marriage. He'd always thought his heart was too broken to ever be blessed and cursed with it. Now... Now he realized he had had that bonding. But not with anyone he'd suspected. He'd felt it the moment Legolas had been conceived. At the time, he hadn't been able to put a word to the rush of the deep connection. Now he could.

"Ada, say something, please."

Holding his cheeks tighter, Thranduil looked into his son's tear-filled eyes, to the creature he cherished above all else, and kissed his forehead, before whispering against it, "The fates are cruel, meleth nîn [my love]."


	9. Chapter 9

Thin browns scrunching towards the middle, Legolas tilted his head back, away from Thranduil's soft kiss. "What do you mean, 'the fates are cruel'? What are you saying?"

Good question.  What was he saying?  How could he give rationality to the reality fate had cursed them with?  He himself could barely wrap his own head around it. How could he possibly provide Legolas with the answers he sought?

Eyes closing, the older elf pressed his lips together, both unsure how to answer and afraid to answer.

When nothing was said, Legolas tried to pull away completely, the dismay traveling from the prince's face to his limbs. Eyes opening at the opposition, the king held his son tight by the grips he still had on his face, refusing to let him go. With the struggles, frustration grew in Thranduil, both with Legolas and himself.

Trying to calm his child, Thranduil beseeched quietly, "Please, iônneg, give me a moment to think, before you run from me."

The youth struggled harder to get away, seizing his father's wrists and yanking on them in an attempt to end the obviously unwanted grip.  "Just let me go!"

When Thranduil still refused, still struggling, Legolas broke down into a sob for the second time that morning. Unlike the last time Legolas broke down though, this time Thranduil knew he was watching a heart break. His own ruined one broke along with it, welling up his own tears.

Legolas blurted out, "If you want nothing to do with it, just say so!"

"It will never be as simple as that, Legolas. Hush. Just..."

Legolas' crying now stronger than his fight, Thranduil brought their foreheads together again, feeling wetness on his face from Legolas' sputters. He tilted the prince's head up and kiss him with slightly parted lips. The sobs softened at the gentle press.

To the point of begging, his son's pain too much to bear, Thranduil whispered, "Just give me a moment. Please."

Thranduil wanted to say the words Legolas obviously needed to hear, because, well, those words _were_ true. But how could either of them save themselves if he said them? How could there be any hope for their souls?

...As if there ever had been.

To be soul bound to his own son... 

No wonder their separations tore him apart, even when right next to each other as Thranduil struggled to deaden his own heart. Every one of those times, Thranduil realized, he had been battling his very soul. And his son's pain... With their binding, he had surely felt Legolas' pain as if it was his own, without realizing it, even with his strives to block out what he'd thought was merely a strong, but normal connection with his child. And together...  Together, their pain had most likely mounted on top of one another, putting their sanity at risk in ways he'd never realized before now.

Breathing in his son's heated breaths, the king whispered, "Forgive me, iônneg, I never realized..."

When nothing more was said, sniffing, Legolas shook his head as much as he could the tight grip, looking up at him, and then asked, "Realized what?"

The older elf opened his mouth, but couldn't force the words out. He shouldn't be saying these things. This shouldn't have even been a reality in the first place. How had fate justified setting their lives against all elven morality and laws, and, in turn, doomed them to heartache? It didn't make any sense.

When he didn't answer, his son's face crinkled up again, threatening a renewed flood of tears. Thranduil forced himself to straighten, bearing witness to his son's beautiful, reddened, wet face. He wiped gently at the wetness under his eyes with his thumbs, wishing he could end all of this young elf's pain.

Giving in because he could take no more, because he was weak with his son, the king whispered with affection, "You are my only child. What I felt when you were conceived... I never saw it for what it was. But now... It seems so obvious. I cannot understand how I failed to recognize..."

Confusion drawing his brows down, Legolas asked, "What are you saying?"

"Can you remember when I became your anacéile [soul-chosen]?"

Legolas looked down and, after a moment, shook his head slightly. "No, I cannot."

"I do remember." Thranduil smiled, even though it felt wretched on his face, as his son met his gaze again. "Fate chose for our souls to be one the moment I felt your vibrancy inside your mother."

The prince's frown deepened. "Are... Are you saying I never had a choice but to feel this way?"

"No. It was a choice, even if an innocent one. Such a bond cannot form without willingness."

Breaths heavier than a moment ago, Legolas searched his father's face with darting eyes. "And you were willing?"

Thranduil's smile deepened with the love he felt for his child. "I loved you from the moment of your conception. I was quite willing to be bound to you. Just as I was willing to be bound to your mother, but that was not to be."

A bit wide-eyed, Legolas studied him cautiously, probably searching for truth in the words. "You and she never..."

"No. And it broke her heart, as well as mine."

Thinking back on Legolas' conception now, when his world had been euphoric, he remembered the strange look in his wife's eyes when she'd felt the life within her. Had she felt their binding? ...Had everyone felt it, but chose not to say a word to him? Was that why the guard had looked at him that way this morning, because he knew what was between him and his son?

And he himself hadn't known?  How was it possible to be so blind? Pure and absolute denial? Ignorance? Stupidity?  Any of those were good enough explanations, although admittedly pathetic for an elf his age, if true.

Legolas' hands lowered from Thranduil's wrists and laid on the king's chest, surely feeling his thudding heartbeat. "If what you say is true... And I feel it is... Ada... I did not know either." He tried to shake his head again. "Forgive me for leaving you. I-I never meant to break your heart. I will beg for your forgiveness for the rest of my days."

At that moment, Thranduil would have forgiven his son for any coarse deed that had merely crossed his mind, let alone done. Just as he couldn't care who his son had been with. After all, surely he'd driven Legolas to do the things he'd done. 

Anger ate him for only making things so much worse between them. "Forgive me as well for my shortsightedness, though I could never deserve it."

When Legolas opened his mouth, surely to protest the words judging by the confused look on his face, Thranduil bent down and captured his son's mouth with his own, kissing him with a passion held in check for millenniums, well, ignoring the few slip-ups that had only served to heighten his hunger for his son. Legolas grabbed fistfuls of his long coat and pressed up into the kiss, giving himself completely over to it. At the willful abandonment of self, the king wanted to devour his son, to claim every part of him as his own.

Then again, could he really demand more, considering Legolas' very soul was his? The idea itself left him overwhelmed, let alone the reality of it. But the idea also put so much heat into his body that he could barely see the outside world.

Pulling away from the mouth slightly, Legolas fighting to reclaimed him, Thranduil whispered, nearly breathless, "I will never let you go again, meleth nîn [my love]," before he pressed back down on him. Legolas' weak moans filled his mouth. Thranduil kissed him deeply until his lungs burned, lacking proper air to aid his hammering heart. When he pulled back, rubbing his thumb over reddened, swollen lips, the king whispered, "No matter who has warmed your bed, you are mine alone."

Panting, Legolas managed to get out, "I never slept with him. How you got that idea..."

The idea forced a bit of thought into a mind that was heading for oblivion. "You never slept with him?"

"No... I only kissed him to..." Legolas opened his eyes and looked up at him, his color becoming a deeper shade of red. "I only meant to draw you out. You would not see me."

Thranduil frowned, trying to place this new bit of information in his desire drenched mind. "You... You meant to make me jealous?"

"Yes..." The youth huffed defenselessly, before biting his lip for a moment, most likely waiting for a poor reaction from his father. "Please forgive me for that as well..."

The action surprised the king, but, then again, it didn't. It wasn't the first time Legolas had tried such antics to gain his attention. But, such games were long in the past. Until this one.

And this time, Thranduil saw it the same way as he'd seen it the other times: As a sign of his son's love and desire to be with him. In times past, he had generally ignored such attempts though, which was a punishment in itself to both of them, or he had disciplined the boy when absolutely necessary to keep him safe from the dangers total rebellion could bring.

This time, however, unlike any other time, he edged his hands back, weaving them into blonde locks, intent on kissing him again, before he noticed again the disarrayed state of his hair. And then he remembered why it was like that in the first place: From Aragorn's hands on him and from Thranduil's own lustful, deranged claiming.

Instead of kissing him, determined to be rid of the evidence since he wanted to forget, he took his son's hand and led him to the dresser on the far side of the room, standing the younger elf in front of it. Legolas watched him closely through the large mirror as Thranduil pulled out the one remaining tie in his hair and slowly worked his fingers through the remnants of the braids. His son's breaths grew heavy, despite the gentleness. His own deepened with them, but he forced control onto himself.

When the locks were loose and hanging down his back, he walked around the youth and, with eyes he could feel burning at his back, removed his crown, the small bits of jewelry he'd bothered with that morning, and finally his robe and long coat. In his undershirt, pants, and boots, he picked up a brush and walked back around.

Thranduil worked the soft bristles through the softer locks of hair, starting from the bottom and working his way up. Smoothness replaced tangles.  Legolas quickly took to biting his lower lip and tilting his head, depending on where the brush was. Thranduil could see in the mirror Legolas' obvious pleasure, his eyes closed, lips parted with which occasional weak, breathy moans escaped. Watching him, feeling the softness of his hair with his free hand, the scent of him, everything only heightened the king's desire for his son, until nearly all of his effort went into controlling himself. He'd never wanted something, someone so badly in all of his nearly seven and a half millenniums alive.

This was a longing he'd never allowed himself to feel before, except in his darkest moments when he was alone and coming with a lustfulness that made him ill afterwards. A part of him still wished to smash it down, but it was suddenly so exceedingly difficult to even just listen to such rationality when Legolas was before him and so willing.

At a tilt to the side, his son's neck completely exposed with the brushing, Thranduil bent down and feathered his lips over the skin and then kissed below the bend of his jaw. The body below him trembled.

"You torture me," Legolas breathed out before biting his bottom lip.

Thranduil smiled and then licked a line to his ear. "I torture myself."

And it was torture. But he knew once he had his arms wrapped around this elf, he wouldn't be able to hold himself back any longer. And this... no matter the fates, no matter their longing, this still forsook everything he desperately believed in and wanted for his son.  He didn't want this for his son, just as Thranduil himself hadn't wanted it so long ago at his own father's hands.

"Ada, please..."

While said heatedly, because of who had said it, because Thranduil's mind was already going in that direction, the simple words jostled up utterly unwelcome emotions and memories of Thranduil's childhood. He couldn't stop himself from pulling away suddenly, backing up a step, his sudden panting not speaking of his desire.

What was he doing? How was he letting this happen after so, so many years of avoiding exactly this? And letting it happen so easily? Could he really be that broken?

Despite the desire still lingering in Legolas' darkened eyes, his frown showed his concern, as he turned around, stepped forward, and placed a hand on Thranduil's chest that the older elf couldn't help but flinch at. The shorter elf pulled his hand away like it'd been struck. "Ada?" The king shook his head, a denial to both of them, while he fought back nausea. "Tell me what is wrong..."

Eyes closing tight, his teeth gritting, Thranduil refused to admit to the humiliation and pain he'd suffered so long ago that he'd never spoken to anyone about. Saying something now would do nothing to help this situation, after all. Instead, he ground out, "I never wanted this for you, iônneg..."

"Are you serious?" The words were lined in such pain that Thranduil almost relented.

Instead, Thranduil said with a coldness that spoke nothing of the mayhem going on inside of him. "You should leave."

"And if I will not?"

That got the king's eyes open. Exasperated, he scolded, "Do you make it your goal to defy me at every turn? When all I have ever wanted for you is happiness, something I could never give you myself!"

The prince scowled, his body tensing. "And why is that exactly?" Legolas shook his head, all of the love gone out of his eyes. "You... You say that now, and what have you done my whole life? You deny me any kind of friendship! Any kind of life! You would have me locked inside these wall, never seeing the light, suffering along with you!  You have never cared how I have suffered!"

Thranduil took a step forward, closing the short distance between them. It took everything in him to not grab him and shake him. "Be silent, hên [child]! You have no idea what you speak of!"

Tears came again to Legolas' eyes, him looking up into Thranduil's, his head slowly shaking. "You would even deny me this, something that _would_ make me so happy."

"...You know why I must deny you."

The youth's brows shot up as he huffed. "What? For the sake of our impeachable elven high standards? These people around us, they will never have to live our lives! And the last thing I want it to spend the rest of eternity out of your arms!" As if in defeat, his forehead fell to rest against Thranduil's chest, as his hands came to rest at his stomach. Slowly the fingers gripped, scraping at the skin underneath the thin layer of cloth, sending a wave of heat through the larger elf's body. "Why this need for you is inside of me... I truly do not care. But if you want my happiness... You cannot deny what is in me, for it will scream until you make me yours."

It only things were that simple...

Thranduil wrapped his arms around his son's heated body, holding him closer and closer until Legolas was crushed against him and forced to turn his head. Quickly after, he felt a hardness reforming at Legolas' groin that pressed against his upper thigh. The feel of it against him...  It maddened him.

Unable to resist the temptation, Thranduil let his hand drift around in between them, edging his own hip away to give himself room. He clutched at the length, making Legolas gasp and then bury his face in Thranduil's chest, his hips twisting to meet the hand. Legolas' hands gripped harder at his chest, probably drawing blood, although surely Legolas didn't realize what he was doing.  That in itself drove Thranduil's hunger.

His hand stroked the length, relishing in the hardness, growing dizzy from knowing what he did. But the youth's panting and small cries only urged him on. Oh, the sounds he made... Thranduil wanted to know him, every part of him. His own length became painful in his lustful desire.

Then he pulled away abruptly, Legolas hanging onto his shirt, his eyes snapping open.

"No! Please!"

Instead of withdrawing completely like his son obviously expected him to, Thranduil gripped his upper arm and hauled him to the bed some distance away. Quickly enough, Legolas stopped fighting him, probably realizing where they were heading.

"Lie down," the king ordered, as he let go.

Legolas did so without hesitation, staring at him with wide, desire-darkened eyes. Thranduil went to work on Legolas' boots, as the younger elf suddenly started yanking on the buttons at his tunic. The king was quicker and then started undoing his child's pants. Legolas lifted his hips when urged to. After a quick removal of his underclothes, Thranduil let his eyes roam over a body he hadn't seen in such a state for many years.

In years past, they'd bathed together in the communal large tub in another area of the halls. Nakedness not shameful among them.  But in the later years, during those times, Thranduil had fought his straying eyes from taking in the beautiful body he refused to let himself have.

Now... Now he let himself look without shame, his desire too great.

Over hard, flexing muscle, Legolas' goose-bumped skin was otherwise smooth, almost perfect. Only a few scars marred it. But those scars made him perfect overall, as they showed who his son truly was. Legolas was no innocent, no matter how much Thranduil wished otherwise. Still, even though Legolas' personality always showed through, his son was who he'd raised him to be, for better or for worse.

His child's erection laid a bit to the side, thick and delicious looking. It twitched under his stare, Legolas sucking in a breath. Curled pubic hair matched the dark color of his brows. Thranduil wanted to weave his fingers into it, but resisted for the moment.

Legolas squirmed under his scrutiny, then began to sit up.

"I told you to lie down."

The prince glared for a split second, but then laid down like a good boy. Thranduil couldn't help his smirk. His son was surprisingly compliant when he wanted something. In turn, Legolas glared again, but then looked to the canopy before closing his eyes, his breathing just barely under control.

Thranduil took that moment to remove his shirt, then slip off his boots and push them aside with the rest of the clothing. It wasn't until he started on his pants that Legolas apparently couldn't take the suspense anymore. The king had a feeling nothing could have torn Legolas' gaze away as Thranduil slipped his pants off of his hips, releasing his sizable erection. Legolas rolled onto his side, watching it bob with a hunger that drew more blood to both of their lengths.

At the obvious hunger, with thousands of years of practice containing himself, the king managed to not toss the younger elf onto his stomach and plunge into him. But, admittedly, it had been far too long since he'd had someone in his bed, his wife nearly three thousand years before. So even he had to admire his own restraint a bit in face of this willing body that was his.

Thranduil came up on the large bed, one that could have held an entire family and then some. He straddled Legolas right below his groin which brought their erections against one another. The younger elf hissed at the contact, his hips jarring. A bit more restrained, Thranduil leaned down, resting his hands on either side of Legolas' shoulders, his long hair fluttering down and pooling on Legolas' chest, and ground his hips. The friction created felt like a burn as his cock slid against Legolas'. The prince seized his thighs with clawing fingers. That time, he definitely did draw a bit of blood.

In turn, Thranduil grasped his hands and put their wrists in one of his much larger hands. He forced them just above Legolas' head, so that he could still have maneuverability.

The youth bucked his frustration. Panting, glaring, he growled, "You truly want to kill me."

"If you died, I would follow, meleth nîn," the larger elf purred near his lips, looking into his eyes, before he claimed his mouth again.

With his other hand, Thranduil gripped their length together and stroked them solidly, slowly, working moans out of them both. Almost immediately, their hips ground together, quickening the strokes. Not even a minute later, Legolas' skin growing damp, the prince was bucking at the touch, already so close to coming. Thranduil wasn't far behind. So he let go and came up onto his knees without mercy, hissing with a sucked in breath, attempting to ward off his own orgasm.

Chest heaving, Legolas cried out his dismay and bucked again. "Please, ada! Have you no mercy at all?!"

Breath heaving as well, the king so wanted to give in. His own body demanded it with twitches of his erection and his drawn up scrotum, which he pulled down on a bit to assure prolonging his release. He wanted to give in, but was still committed to feeling his son's first release with Legolas' tightness around his cock.

So, instead, he hushed his son, kissing, licking, nipping his jaw, his neck as Legolas tilted his head back against the plush mattress, his collarbone. All the while, Legolas groaned and pumped his hips, trying to find contact, and did occasionally manage to bump into his father's erection, making the larger elf growl each time. Thranduil was sure if he touched Legolas' cock at that point, his son would have come without hesitation.

Drawing himself back, the youth was a marvel to him. If Legolas truly wanted him this badly, how had his son ever stayed away from him for so long? He found himself admiring his son's restraint, something he'd always thought Legolas considerably lacked. Not that he was one to claim an overabundance of restraint.  After all, Thranduil himself had been the one to first bridge the gap that night on the balcony, as well as nearly every contact between them afterwards, no matter if he'd also been the one to end the contacts.

Thranduil's gaze met his son's lidded one. And after a soft kiss Legolas tried to deepen, he pulled away again, but then couldn't help going back down for more kisses, teasing him, teasing himself until his cock ached. "I want to plunge myself into you. Pour my seed into you until I fill you."

How long would that take? Thranduil felt he had the stamina to find out.

Legolas hummed his desire for it, still trying to deepen the kisses, his hips jarring again, finding nothing but air. Then he appeared to have a brilliant idea when he suddenly lifted his whole bottom half off of the bed and met his father's groin. At the contact, Thranduil swept a hand under his backside, holding them there, grinding at him. Legolas' breath caught repeatedly in his throat, each one coming faster and higher than the next, maddening Thranduil. He didn't want to pull away. But he did to stop their release and forced himself to sit at his son's side.

Following him, Legolas sat up as well and claimed his king's mouth, forcing his tongue in. Thranduil allowed it for a few moments, tasting his son, but then pushed his shoulders back and maneuvered him until Legolas was lying on his stomach. The youth wasted no time in grinding his hips against the bed. Thranduil put a heavy pressure with an arm on his buttocks, forcing stillness.

Thranduil growled, "If you come before I find myself inside you, you will not like the consequences, iônneg." The words made Legolas moan as his hips still twitched, but not nearly as much. "Spread your legs a bit."

They spread immediately. Thranduil released the pressure and then edged that hand down and between his spread cheeks. When he touched his opening, Legolas' moan was instantaneous. He bucked at it, not seeming to care he was dry outside of sweat. Pressing himself, the king moaned at the tight resistance. The only thing he wanted at that moment was to be inside him.

Restraint. He needed restraint, even though Legolas' pushes backwards encouraged him on. No matter Legolas' enthusiasm, he couldn't take his father's length without oil.

With a groan, he pulled his hand away, maneuvered over Legolas' body, unable to resist kissing his shoulder blade in the process, and then reached in the drawer, pulling out a small vial he kept for his own needs when the urge struck. Then he straddled his son again at the middle of his spread thighs, sucking in a breath at the sight of his exposed hole.

It was a vile time to feel doubt. A lot of doubt at that. Thranduil swallowed and closed his eyes.

After a few moments of no more movement, Legolas lifted his head and tried to look behind him. When he couldn't get a good looked, he groaned out, "Please tell me you have no plans to stop now."

_If only I had the strength to explain my hesitation..._

Instead, to try to settle his son, he kneaded a cheek, exposing Legolas' entrance with each pull, hoping to work up his courage.

In relation to everything else, it was absurd to want this one simple thing so badly that everything else was insignificant. He knew logically this was just his body reacting to stimuli. But logic didn't seem to matter much at this moment, only enough to keep him from thrusting in.

"Ada, if you cannot find the will to do it, I swear I will take you instead."

Taken back, Thranduil raised his brows and then huffed at the threat. "You would dare?"

"Yes. And you with no strength to stop me."

With the fervor of the words, Thranduil couldn't doubt Legolas would try, although, purely physically, he knew the youth could not make good on his claim without some kind of advantage. But even with the childhood memories the idea disturbed, he doubted he'd stop Legolas if he tried. It, in fact, gave him a rush of excitement, the idea of being under his son's body.

Legolas dropped his head and groaned, seemingly in defeat, obviously not knowing his king's thoughts. Thranduil watched him for a moment, drawing in what he hoped were steadying breaths. Then he opened the container and dribbled some oil over his fingers. Legolas went still at the sounds.

With one slick finger, he caressed his son's entrance, pushing harder with each stroke, until his length rehardened. When the finger finally broke through the tightness of the muscle, Legolas moaned into the mattress. A moan escaped Thranduil's own throat, and left him craving to ram his way inside with something far larger. Instead, he stroked the finger in and out. When his son relaxed enough, he added another, and then another almost immediately after. Legolas came up for air, resting on his elbows, and moaned and panted with each caressing thrust, his hips starting to pump again.

The sounds and movements fogged the older elf's mind until could only think of claiming this willing body. With a growing urgency, Thranduil removed his fingers, poured some more over them, and then slicked up the length of his cock, while watching his son thrust hungrily at the sheets. When he could stand the sight no more without acting, he brought his legs between Legolas', who opened his legs further, supported himself up on one arm, and positioned his aching erection at his son's hole. And stopped.

Legolas' trembling, sweat-slickened body was so beautiful that Thranduil suddenly felt so selfish for wanting this. The youth's groan was instant.

"Ada, please!"

Legolas thrust his hips back and the tip spread him with the forcefulness, bringing out groans from both elves.

There were few times in Thranduil's life he'd ever had the urge to let out a simple, mindless curse. Down to his basics, this was a handful of times when he'd actually done it, growling out, "Fuck."

His son's body was so unbelievably hot and tight. And the sweat-stained musky scent he put off... Thranduil didn't know how he'd ever get fully inside without coming.

In an attempt to beat the odds though, he pushed forward, meeting his son's backwards bucks. In only four strokes, he was to the hilt, panting, trying so hard to contain himself. To aid that effort, he again reached between his own legs and pulled down none-too-gently on his scrotum, while the forceful pressure at the base of his cock urged the orgasm on. Thranduil pulled out a bit to release the pressure.

Then he noticed Legolas' trembles, his heaving breaths, and feared he'd gone too fast in the claiming. At the same moment, he realized he was inside of his son, and all that entailed. He suddenly thought to remove himself, but found he couldn't. Instead he pushed forward again and trembled out a moan. His son matched it, then whimpered something Thranduil couldn't understand.

"Legolas?" he said, nearly breathless, his voice sounding so strange to his ears.

"Please, ada."  His voice sounded desperate, but Thranduil couldn't tell if it was in a good or bad way.

Growing fearful, Thranduil came down onto his elbow, reached around with his other arm, and grabbed his son's chin, forcing him to turn it and then twist his body. Legolas' cheeks were flushed, his lids heavy, trembling breaths rushing out of his parted lips. Then he focused on his father, and Thranduil could see the desire in his eyes. The king kissed him, plunging his tongue into his mouth, claiming both ends of him. Legolas kissed back, deep moans escaping into Thranduil's mouth.

When the kiss ended, Thranduil breathed, "Gin melin [I love you]." He loved this elf so much.

...If anything ever happened to him, the world would pay for it.

The corners of Legolas' mouth crept up, his dilated eyes flickering over his father's face. "Gin melin."

The smile quickly vanished as Thranduil thrusted solidly against him, making his whole body move with the rhythm. Legolas dropped his head back down and let himself be opened with thrust into his clenching body, moaning, gasping, taking everything offered to him so willingly that Thranduil could only feel his love for his son grow.  Although, how more love could be possible, he didn't know.

Legolas' moans and breaths began to peak again, drowning the king, driving his own until he could feel so much between them, he wasn't even sure where he ended and his son began. When the youth came, he almost swore it was his own orgasm, and then it was as he came with a strength he'd never felt before. It drowned him until It felt like the edge between life and death. The world condensed into the sensations of their bodies and their mesh of emotions.

Seconds, perhaps minutes later, he came down from wherever his mind had gone, lifting his body up off of Legolas.  He was sure he'd yelled out, his throat pained. He looked down at his son and then saw a red, slightly torn circle that was no doubt a bite-mark on Legolas shoulder. He couldn't remember having done it.

Then he could pick out the panting of Legolas' ragged breathing. He noticed how both of their bodies trembled, the slick sweat between them, he hot wetness encasing his still-hard erection. At noticing, he pulled out slowly, making the prince hiss. Utterly overwhelmed, growing more worried, he rolled off and then rolled Legolas onto his back, then against his chest, coming trembling fingers through damp hair.

"Legolas?"

The prince hummed softly, a question.

Thranduil smiled slightly, feeling warmth wash over him. He took it as a blanket and kissed his son's forehead. A minute later, when Legolas' breaths evened out, sleep overtaking him, Thranduil soon found himself dozing as well.

In his dreams, for once in so, so long, Legolas was smiling. He could only smile back, as he took him into his arms and made love to him again and again.


	10. Cherished

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, it's been far too long. But I wanted to finish this up. A comment I received a while ago made me realize I was done with this story which is probably why I didn't write any more on it. ^^; And I'm done creating drama between them. I just want them to be happy. So, get ready for the sap.... at the very end, anyway. XP

Aragorn blew out a smoke ring. Both of them watched it rise up towards the clear early Spring sky.  When it finally dissipated into the sun-heated afternoon air, Aragorn sighed.  "I shall never see inside you home, Legolas.  Not that I had ever thought before to be so privileged, but...  I'll admit you were correct.  Your father definitely knows how to hold a grudge."

Legolas smiled tightly. Tight because of the underlining tightness of the words that Aragorn had surely meant to be taken lightly.  "You kissed me. Be glad you still have your head about you."

The human huffed and more or less flopped onto his back, crushing the sparce grass and weeds under him that still hadn't gained a healthy shade of green yet. Their feet hung over the ledge of the stone cliff.  The bubbly sound of the stream flowed near them.

The elf could hear the smile in the words when Aragorn whispered, "You kissed me back."

Blonde hair fluttered slightly with a shake of Legolas' head. "Yes, but-"

"Close your mouth, elf. Just... Just let me dream a little."  The man huffed again, clawing a hand through his hair.  "Forgive me... I..."

When Aragorn said no more, Legolas finally turned his head to look down at his friend, something he'd been avoiding for a good half an hour with the open air so unavoidably claustrophobic around them despite their best intentions.  The elf studied his face, trying to figure out some way to ease the unwelcome underlining tension between them that hadn't been there days before.

Aragon wasn't young by human standards. Yet, when compared to an elf's life, the man was just out of his adolescence.  To compare them, well... 

Comparably, in all honesty, they weren't so different despite the two millenniums he had on the human.  Their reliance on each other over the previous fifty-nine years had managed to cement that equality.

But, also comparably, when it came to intimacy, admittedly, Aragorn was ancient. Legolas didn't want to count the number of times the human had wandered off with a man or woman for a few hours when they'd occasionally entered a town.  He'd never once protested over the fact, even after being forced to pretend amusement amongst humans who were like the humans before them. 

Nonetheless, he would never understand the nonchalantness humans could take with their bodies.  Yes, he himself had taken several lovers when he'd been much, much younger, but still...

Then again, what he'd experienced over the last few days in the arms of his father... He could now understand the appeal.

When Aragorn finally met his gaze with obvious reluctance, Legolas smiled and murmured. "I forgive you."

A familiar, friendly grin slipped onto the tracker's face before Aragorn looked back to the sky. "Be glad you have an elven heart, my friend. And I _am_ glad the kiss worked."  He sucked in another long drag of his pipe. This time he didn't bother with a ring. Instead, he blew out a heavy stream.  "But...  Our adventures are done, aren't they? I believe I..."

The unspoken words were there, hanging heavy over them, seeming to blot out the bright sun.

The 'yes' was so hard to get out of his mouth.  Legolas wasn't sure how he managed it.  For fifty-nine years together to end so abruptly... His heart was torn, but he couldn’t deny the forceful pull of his father, not when the elf's touches still ghosted over his skin. "Forgive me."

That would have been the appropriate time to say, 'There's nothing to forgive,' however, Aragorn merely looked to the sky with suddenly clenched teeth and a fisted hand around the pipe.  Legolas looked back to the horizon, to the mountain in the far distance that peeked out above the trees.  That place... 

That place had started all of this, well, most of it.  Well, for that matter, it certainly hadn't even started on that balcony so many years before either.

It had apparently started the moment he was conceived and his soul meshed with an elf whose soul was just as willing.

"I love you, Legolas. To say that I'll miss you... is an understatement. I'll miss you more than you could imagine. More than should even be possible."

"My heart feels the same," the elf whispered, meaning it, despite the pull of his father. This human had been a true friend to him since the first day they'd met.

"When Gandalf arrives, I will go with him at his departure."

"That may be many months yet."

"Yes..."  The word was a sigh. Aragorn took another couple of drags before he said, "I haven't wanted to say it, but I believe your kin suspect. I've heard whispers."

The words tensed the elf's body.  "Yes. I have felt their stares."

"I know of elven morality.  Human morality is not much different in this respect. I know what the gods say."

"As do I."

The grin was there again in Aragorn's voice when he said, "Be glad you cannot die, well, outside of some rather unpleasant demise."

"Yes... A part of me wishes I could control my heart, could take back what my soul has decided for me, but I cannot."

"Nor could I ever expect you to.  Just... Just try not to die." After a forceful exhale, Aragorn started with, "Legolas..." A calloused hand closed over Legolas' hand that was holding up half the weight of his torso as he leaned back. "Truly, Legolas, forgive me.  I cannot control my own heart as well. Which is why you should go back to where you belong.  I need... space."

For a moment, Legolas couldn’t comprehend the words.  Then he couldn't believe, well, didn't want to believe the words that were coming out of his friend's mouth.  "You wish us to end this way? Your friendship is..." He couldn't complete the words when he knew their friendship could never be the same again. Not when he'd found roots in the very place he'd sworn he'd never return to until he'd gained some semblance of control over his heart.

"I know what our friendship is. Which is why I never said a word of my love for you until now. I need space, Legolas.  I need to cement my heart again.  I cannot stop these impure thoughts of you. Memories of how you felt under my touch. Your taste...  And your father...  What he did to you that day... It makes me see red. Truly, Legolas, have mercy on me."

Legolas had known such words were coming.  He'd seen it in friend's every breath that day after so many days apart. But he still didn’t want to believe them since he feared the end.

"Just for a short while, Legolas. Until I regain my wits. I can be of no help to you in this state."

"Your friendship is what I desire."

"I know and my every wish is to give you that.  But, right now, I cannot.  Legolas...  You stayed away from your father for nearly sixty years because of what you felt.  Allow me something of the same."

Legolas couldn't help an exasperated smirk that came along with a small shake of his head, remembering the pain of so many years of wanting what he couldn’t have. "It never helped."

"I know, but... Please..."

The hand squeezed harder, promising true pain if provoked.  Legolas couldn't care about the threat of physical pain.  Rather, it was the true begging in Aragorn's voice that gave him pause.

But to lose one to gain another?  Where was the fairness in that?

"Legolas... You know, you can be truly selfish at times."

His pulse already high, the elf turned his head to stare down at his friend with a, well, selfish scowl. But then he saw it: the desire in his friend's face. Had it always been there and he just hadn't noticed it before? Or perhaps he'd always mistaken it for something else.

The hand squeezed just that much harder.  "Legolas, please..."

And what was this particular begging for?  For distance or for closeness? The prince couldn't be sure.

The whiskered man smiled weakly, releasing the hand and resting his own on his stomach. "We never even had a chance. Well, I never did. Who could stand against _him_ and not crumble?"

The words were too true, even if a considerable portion of Legolas didn't want them to be after so many years of denial. Who indeed could not crumble before his father, outside of dwarves who had no love for elves?

When Legolas said nothing to deny the words, the human was standing, murmuring, "Go back to him, elf. You have denied your heart long enough." And then he walked away, back towards the forest and Legolas could only watch him go with tears in his eyes.

The days after, Legolas found himself in his father's arms again and again, making up for lost time as Legolas mended his heart, his very soul in them, surely as much as his father did.  Eventually, he even saw the king smile, the first true, uninhibited smile Legolas had witnessed to grace his father's ageless face since before Legolas' mother's death.

The prince smiled back, glowing in the happiness found there, looking up at the elf who caged him on the bed, who stroked his loose golden hair that splayed out over the pillow.  "Tell me your thoughts, ada."

The smile grew. "The stars hold nothing to your beauty." Thranduil nipped at his son's cheek and whispered next to his ear, "Especially after you come."

Legolas laughed lightly, tilting his head to give his father a better angle at attacking the place right below his ear with light scrapes of teeth.  "You are wicked to compare me to what even the gods hold so dear."

"Compare, iônneg?  There is no comparison. You are my light.  My life. Everything I hold dear. What could possibly hope to compare to you?"

His father claimed his mouth, claimed all of him as he claimed his father.  Whatever fate brought to them from that point on, Legolas could bear it with love in his heart and be happy in knowing he belonged to the one who belonged to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the comments, kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, and reads! I appreciate it and am so glad this story was liked! :D


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